Stay or Leave
by Enlee
Summary: Dr. House has hit rock bottom. Can Lisa Cuddy help him get back on his feet? HouseCuddy...Chapter 30, the final chapter, is now up. Please Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

He was pacing again, up and down the living room, stopping only to drink from a bottle of scotch that was sitting on the piano. The nearly empty bottle had been full only two and half hours earlier.

Insomnia had plagued Gregory House for years and he had always been able to deal with it...until now. For the last four nights he had stared at the clock, the television, the walls. Dozing in fits and starts, not getting anything remotely close to sleep. Now he was starting to crack.

Pausing again, he took another long pull from the bottle, hoping the scotch would magically numb the pain and exhaustion that was eating him alive, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.

There was a knock at the door.

Opening the door, he saw a shivering Lisa Cuddy on his doorstep. "We need to talk, Greg." She charged past him before he could respond, nearly knocking the cane out of his hand.

"Please, come in," he muttered to the cold December night before slamming the door. Turning back to the living room, he watch passively as Cuddy shrugged out of her coat. He was honestly surprised to see her. When they spent time together he always went over to her place. "Your car is right out front. This must be important if you're not afraid to be seen at my place."

"Have you slept?" she asked, her eyes wandering around the living room.

"Not in...let's see...four days, or nights, which ever you prefer," he said in a stupidly loud voice,  
hoping it would piss her off.

Cuddy's eyes stopped on Steve McQueen's cage for a few seconds, then fixed on the scotch.  
"How much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Not enough." He finished the bottle in three swallows. "Damn, you're still here. It's not a hallucination."

"Greg, how many bottles of scotch have you been through this week?"

"Hmmm...I didn't know I supposed be keeping a running count for you, Dr. Cuddy." House limped toward the kitchen. "But I do know that I'm not drunk enough to think you're here for a change of bedroom scenery. So what the hell are you doing here?"

There was another bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter. Before House could open it Cuddy snatched it away and tossed it in the trash.

"Hey! That stuff isn't cheap!"

Cuddy's royal blue eyes gleamed in the kitchen light. Usually she could see Greg House's eyes radiate is if they were lit from within. Now they were dull and flat and she didn't like that for a second. "For days now you have been nothing more than a walking zombie. I need to know what's wrong."

"We've know each other for a long time now, Lisa. You of all people should know that I've earned the right to be miserable."

"If you want to be miserable off the clock, in your own home, that's your business." She pushed him back as he tried to rescue the scotch. "When you bring your misery to work and it starts affecting your performance then it becomes my business." 


	2. Chapter 2

They stood together in complete silence for several long minutes. Not able to stand it anymore, House tapped his cane on the floor just to hear some noise. "You should go move your car. One of the nurses might see it and start some nasty rumors."

Cuddy ignored him. "I had some visitors in my office today."

House smirked. "Oh wow. That's really fascinating. Please let me know when I should fucking care."

"My visitors were Foreman, Cameron, and Chase. They wanted to talk about you. They're worried. All three said your behavior is beyond erratic and spiraling out of control. You look like hell, you're incoherent. They're afraid you're becoming a danger to the patients and to yourself. And I completely agree. I can't have you in my hospital like this, Greg."

Those words hit him like a sucker punch. Suddenly he was ashamed of being drunk, ashamed that he had let himself get this low, ashamed he had let his fellow doctors down, ashamed that Lisa Cuddy had to see him like this. All he could do was close his eyes and shake his head.

She tried to take his hand. He jerked it out of her grip.

Sighing, she said, "I'm not leaving until we sort this out."

"I'm not leaving", he mimicked. A tiny smile formed and not an ounce of it touched his eyes. "Stacy used to say that to me. I was in the hospital screaming in agony and she said 'I'm not leaving.' Then after the surgery when my leg looked like fucking roadkill, Stacy was still there and she said 'I'm not leaving.' Then I was in a wheelchair, wondering if I would ever walk again, wondering if I would ever be a doctor again. Stacy was by my side saying 'I'm not leaving'." House started pacing again. His cane smacked Cuddy in the leg and she had to move to the doorway. "So, finally I could walk again. Finally I could be a doctor again. I could finally get on with my life. And Stacy left. She was gone. She was fucking gone. She just left without a word. Man, she really blindsided me with that, I can tell you. That was eight years ago tonight."

From the doorway, Cuddy watched as his pacing slowed. The exhaustion and scotch were definitely taking their toll, but she knew him well enough to see he wasn't going down without a knock-down drag-out fight.

"Greg, Stacy is gone. She's not coming back."

"I fucking know that."

"Good. I'm not Stacy. I'm not just going to up and leave. Now can you please stop torturing yourself? Please stop driving yourself crazy!"

The pacing stopped as if a power switch had been turned off. "You have no idea what she did to me," he said softly. "Do me a favor, Lisa. If and when you should decide to leave, at least have the guts to say it to my face."

She walked over from the doorway. "If it ever comes to that, you have my word." This time he let her take his hand. He squeezed hers hard enough to hurt. "Greg, would like me to stay tonight?"

"Yes. Please."


	3. Chapter 3

For a few seconds he didn't know where he was. Why was his bedroom so big? How did the piano get in there? After a few blinks, House's weary gaze settled on the coffee table. A bottle of Vicodin, a box of crackers, and a glass of a bubbly liquid were on one end. Steve McQueen was curled up in his cage at the other end. He was in his living room. Mystery solved. 

"_Oh my God_", he moaned, clawing for the Vicodin as his hangover kicked into overdrive. The pain in his leg barely registered. The light burned his eyes. He honestly thought his head was going to explode.

A familiar voice floated around somewhere, but he couldn't make out any words over the pounding migraine and nausea that smashed over him. He felt his mouth being opened, a pill and cold fizzy liquid hit his tongue. He swallowed to keep from choking.

After an eternity, the pain went from a crashing symphony to a dull roar. House felt he could open his eyes without the light killing him on the spot.

He was curled up on the sofa, still in his clothes, though his shoes had somehow escaped his feet and settled by the easy chair. A blanket and pillow from his bed had joined him.

Cuddy was sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

"Remind me to never drink that brand of scotch," she said, prying something out of his hand. It was the bottle of Vicodin. He had squeezed it so hard the plastic cracked.

"You're still here, " he mumbled. His tongue felt like a dry sponge.

"You wanted me to stay, remember? How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty." It took all of his strength to pull himself to a sitting position while she held the glass of ginger ale to his mouth. After a few gulps he fell back, panting. "You're still here," he said again.

"I told you I would stay, Greg." She reached over to brush his hair off his forehead. Scowling, he pushed her hand away. Her motherly instincts were the last thing he was in the mood for.

"That means nothing to me, Lisa. Everybody lies. Besides, I don't remember you saying that so you could be lying right now."

"What do you remember?"

"Drinking a lot and yelling at someone in the kitchen. I assume that someone was you."

"You were upset about–"

"Stacy. I was angry at Stacy," he said thickly.

Lisa nodded. "I finally got you to sit at the table while I found some coffee. You passed out before I got the kettle on the stove. It wasn't easy getting you in here."

A few vague flickers of what he did the night before swirled around his head. He decided it wasn't worth the effort to remember the rest of it.

"You've been asleep for about eleven hours now. You woke up around three and said your leg hurt. I gave you a Vicodin and you were out again in about five seconds." She stood up and smoothed out her skirt. It was only then he noticed that she was all cleaned up and had her coat folded over her arm. "I have to go in and put out some fires. Will you be okay by yourself for a little while?"

"Yes," he muttered, too drained to care if she stayed or not.

"And you are taking the next three days off. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you."

House managed a weak smile. Exhaustion was crashing over him again, but he wanted to get in one last jab at her. "You pulled my authorization, didn't you, you sneaky little wench."

"Just in case you managed to drag yourself to the hospital. I wouldn't put that past you." Lisa pushed the table closer so he wouldn't fall of the sofa while reaching for his pills. "I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?"

He nodded, too tired to speak, too tired to think, too tired to listen to her babble on anymore. He was asleep before she closed the front door.


	4. Chapter 4

The blanket was tangled around his legs, the pillow was on the floor, and Wilson was lounging in the easy chair reading _The Da Vinci Code_.

"Oh no," House grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "I've died and gone to hell."

"Nice to see you, too," Wilson said. He was more than used to House's idiosyncrasies, major and minor. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over by a truck. Then the driver threw it in reverse and ran over me again. Christ, my head fucking hurts." After rescuing his legs from the blanket, he slowly sat up. His head felt like it was filled with wet cement. "What time is it?"

"Almost noon."

"What day is it?"

"Thursday."

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Cuddy ordered me to take an extra long and early lunch to check on you. No offense, but you look like shit."

"Thank you, Dr. Wilson. You always know just what to fucking say."

"You're welcome," Wilson said dryly, putting his book on the table. Steve McQueen was running endless circles on his squeaky wheel. "You hungry? When was the last time you had something in your stomach besides booze and Vicodin?"

Glaring at Wilson, House grabbed the bottle of Vicodin from the table. The throbbing in his leg was catching up with the throbbing in his head.

"Fine," Wilson sighed, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. "Just wait here. I'll see what I can scrounge up."

"I am perfectly capable of walking from here to the kitchen. Where's my fucking cane?"

After finding the cane leaning against the piano, Wilson handed it to cranky friend and stalked off to the kitchen. House sat and listened to him clang around the cabinets for a few minutes. He dry-swallowed a Vicodin then slowly but surely staggered his way towards lunch.

Wilson stirred something at the stove, watching as House, very shaky and white as salt, made it to the table. He was genuinely surprised that House didn't pass out in the doorway.

At the table, House was trying to remember the last time he actually ate something and couldn't. Soon the smell of chicken noodle soup filled the kitchen. A few seconds later he started salivating like a Pavlovian dog. He put his head down and wished the soup would hurry the fuck up.

"Your head still hurt?" Wilson asked from far away.

"My head hurts," House spoke into the table. He didn't care if Wilson heard him or not. "My leg hurts. The truth hurts. Love hurts. Everything hurts."

A nudge brought him back around. He sat up and a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup and a glass of water magically appeared. The first spoonful hit his mouth and he relished the salty taste.

For a few minutes Wilson simply sat and watched his friend enjoy the soup, pleased to see a bit of color return to his face.

"That was quite a bender you went on," Wilson said.

Without looking up, House nodded in agreement. "That it was. I threw a pity party and forgot to mail out the invitations."

"Yes, this insomnia and scotch fueled blitz had all the earmarks of a Stacy Left Me anniversary party. But something was different this time."

More spoonfuls of soup. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is so. There was something more...what's the word I'm looking for, _emotional_ about this one. If I didn't know any better I'd say this time it wasn't just about Stacy."

Frowning, House reached for his glass. "I'm sure the fucking point to all this will come along _sometime_ today."

"Why is Cuddy suddenly so interested in you?" Wilson asked flatly.

House choked on his water.

Leaning forward with a diminutive smile, Wilson continued. "You two have fought like cats and dogs about every little thing for years. You two scream, argue, throw things, drive each other completely insane. The animosity between you and Cuddy is the stuff of legends. But now...well, you still drive each other completely insane, but now the two of you are almost _cordial_ about it. She actually _smiles_ at you when she sees you in the hallway and you smile back. Then today she shows up in my office, asking me to check on you, wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday. I've seen the way you look at her, House, and I can't say that I blame you."

For a few stunned seconds House stared into his endless glass of water. Sighing, he put it back on the table and pushed the soup aside. "You've got quite an imagination, Wilson."

"The truth hurts and love hurts. Yeah, well, maybe I was just seeing things." Wilson folded his arms and waited, half expecting House to dump the remains of the soup into his lap.

But House just slowly rose from the table. "I'm tired. I need to go lay down." He limped out of the kitchen without looking back.

Wilson washed up the dishes. Out in the living room he saw that House skipped the sofa and had gone to his bedroom, leaving behind the pillow and blanket. Pausing to refill Steve McQueen's water bottle, he gathered up the pillow and blanket and went into the bedroom. Rumpled clothes were strewn all over the floor. House had his long body stretched out on the bed, stripped down to his boxer shorts, his back to the door. Wilson made sure the pillow regained its spot and the blanket covered up its owner.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," came a muffled response.

"Good. I'm sure Cuddy will be glad to hear that." Wilson left without another word.

Gregory House slept. He woke up to the sound of the front door shutting. Car keys jangled. Listened as footsteps approached his bedroom, then the hinge faintly squeak as the door was pushed open. He could smell the cold outdoors on her as Lisa Cuddy climbed into his bed.


	5. Chapter 5

"Lisa." His back was to her, his eyes still closed. He heard her breath catch in her throat. She hadn't expected him to be awake.

"Feeling better, Greg?" She joined him under the covers.

"I suppose," he said without turning around. "Why did you send Wilson here?"

"I couldn't get away and didn't know when I would be back," Cuddy said as she curled up next to him. "One fire turned into two fires and then they threatened to turn into a raging inferno. You know how it is. Anyway, Wilson is your friend. I figured he'd want to check on you."

"He knows."

"Knows what?"

"About us."

"How?" she gasped. "Did you tell him?"

House chuckled then turned on his back. "Wilson is a lot of things but a total moron isn't one of them. He's a man who has tried to hide many affairs so he is more than capable of spotting two people trying to hide an affair."

"I should have known," she sighed heavily.

"If he blabs I'll just beat him to death with my cane."

Cuddy couldn't help but laugh at that. Slowly she reached out and lightly stroked his cheek, watched in amusement as he broke out in gooseflesh, more than pleased when he didn't push her hand away. Either he was still too tired to care or he was just letting himself enjoy the moment. Cuddy hoped it was the latter. House always seemed to deny himself many of the simple pleasures of life as if he were undeserving of them. Try as she might to break him of this practice, she found the pain, misery and all around stubbornness that drove him to it ran so deep she doubted even House could see the bottom.

She remembered his comment from the other night about his leg looking like 'roadkill'. He hated it, but the hate wasn't simply directed at the leg itself or the pain it caused him. More than once House had let it slip that he felt a freak. He didn't like her seeing his leg, he made that very clear. Of course, Cuddy didn't care what his leg looked like and, of course, he didn't believe her. One night she had had enough and asked him, exasperated, "Why won't you believe me. Because you can't or you won't?" He quietly replied "I can't because I won't." and refused to speak about it again.

Through it all there was a strange flipside; there were times he would go out of his way to indulge and charm her. As a lover, well, he gave as much as he took, if not more. Many nights they ended up a panting, tangled, wonderful mess on the bed. It appeared her pleasure was the one thing he couldn't deny himself. Then there were the Godivas that arrived at her house at random intervals, his was of letting her know he was thinking about her without using so many words. For her birthday he sent over a huge bouquet of red, white and pink roses. The card read "_I didn't know which color you liked best._"

The moment passed. He gently but firmly brushed her hand away.


	6. Chapter 6

House was soaking in a warm bath while Cuddy sat in the living room and stared at the rat. He never mentioned having a pet.

She padded into the kitchen and found some eggs and bread that didn't appear to be fossilized. She went to the bathroom door and knocked lightly.

"Greg, you think you can eat something?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Dinner in ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay," he echoed.

As Cuddy scrambled up some eggs she saw House stagger in, every bit as shaky as Wilson had described. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the bath. Baggy sweat pants and a Ramones tee shirt clung to his skinny frame. His left hand was wrapped around the cracked bottle of Vicodin. After collapsing into a chair, he swallowed a pill, then leaned his head against his steepled arms. For one brief, bizarre second Cuddy thought he was praying.

He looked up at her as she brought the plates over. Despite the dark circles underneath, his eyes had regained a bit of their light.

"You're looking better," said Cuddy, between bites of toast.

"I've still got a headache," he grumbled, pushing eggs around his plate.

"If you drank half as much scotch as I think you did, I can see why. By the way, Cameron was asking about you."

"Cameron," he smirked. "I'm surprised she's not over here playing nurse-maid instead of you."

"It's still early. She could still show up." Cuddy had heard rumors of Cameron having a crush on her boss and was more than a little amused at the thought.

"Tomorrow she'll be demanding a five-page single-spaced typed report. Did you bring your laptop?"

House snickered to himself then ate few more bites. From the corner of his eye he could see Cuddy looking at him with her hands tucked under her chin. "Something on your mind, Lisa?" he said, dropping a bit of soggy toast back on to his plate.

"Greg, do you remember why you were so upset last night?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake..."

"Do you remember?"

"Goddammit Lisa, don't even fucking think about lecturing me–"

"You wanted me to promise you something. If you get anything out of this experience it should be that memory. Why were you so upset?"

"It was the anniversary of when Stacy left me. I already told you that."

"Do you remember what I promised you?" Cuddy pressed on even though she hated it whenever the subject of Stacy came up since Stacy hurt him more than his leg ever could.

"A promise? No, I don't. Feel free to fucking enlighten me." The sarcasm dripped from his words.

"You got it in your head that I was going to leave you just like Stacy did–"

As quick as lightening House slammed his fist on the table. Cuddy jumped three inches. Silverware clattered from the plates. The Vicodin bottle fell over and swung in tiny arcs. "Okay okay okay...I remember. You don't have to say anymore. I remember." They both took a few seconds to catch their breath. "Being a misanthropic jackass, I just automatically assume the worst in the people." He laughed. There wasn't a trace of humor it. "What's that old saying...We only hurt the ones we love? Is that how it goes? It's true. Hopefully you won't have to learn that lesson the way I did, Lisa," he went on, then met her gaze. "I'm counting on you to keep your promise. Just come out and say it. Don't make me assume the worst in you."

"Greg, I just wanted you to remember that I made that promise. You deserve that." said Cuddy.

"Fine. That's settled. I'm glad we had this talk," House said, not meaning a single word of it.

They sat under the harsh glow of the kitchen light, Cuddy staring at House, House staring at the table. The sound of the rat's squeaky wheel drifted in and out.

"Is your car out front?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Under the street light?"

"Yes."

"What will the neighbors think?"

"Who cares?"

He smiled then, a genuine smile that touched his eyes. "I guess that means you're staying over tonight."


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't until they reached the bedroom that Cuddy realized she had forgotten to bring a change of clothes. Again. House calmly peeled off his Ramones tee shirt and handed it to her.

They climbed into bed in silence.

Patiently she listened as his breathing fell into a deep steady rhythm, and then waited fifteen more minutes to make sure he was asleep.

As always he was turned slightly on his left side to keep the weight off his bad leg. Ever so carefully Cuddy inched her way over, wrapped an arm around his waist, letting the heat of his skin envelope her.

_We only hurt the ones we love._

Did Gregory House really say that?

Cuddy was there from the beginning and had seen everything. After the surgery he was devastated. After Stacy left he was destroyed. For the last eight years all she could do was watch as he cut himself off from the rest of the world. He hid behind his moodiness and snarkiness, his only human connection—of you could call it that—being Wilson.

But now…

Now he was trying to connect with her.

Is that so?

Why her? And why now?

The answers to those questions would never reach her ears. Cuddy could speculate all she wanted: Maybe the solitude he craved had turned into loneliness. Maybe he was finally ready to move on. In the end, all that analysis would be an exercise in futility. Greg House would never let his true motives be known even if it meant the firing squad.

He shifted, a low murmur escaping the back of his throat. Cuddy held her breath. After a few seconds he sighed and the slow deep breathing continued. She nuzzled his neck, her arm gliding up his chest, feeling his heart beat underneath her hand.

_Hopefully you won't have to learn that lesson like I did._

The woman he loved had left him, and now he was afraid it was going to happen all over again.

Why are you so afraid of that, Dr. House? Cuddy thought. Would that mean having to admit you care about someone? Sometimes you push me away, but you have never told me to stay away. Do you want to rejoin the human race?

Again, it was all speculation.

But here she was, wearing his tee shirt, sleeping in his bed. He had some cause to reach out to her. She was doing something right in his eyes.

He's not just going to spill his guts to you, Lisa. Let him go at his own pace.

Fine.

And stop with dime-store conjecture unless you want to drive yourself to four day bender.

Lisa Cuddy packed up her speculation, maybe she could drag it out again on a rainy day. She drifted off and felt his heart beat beneath the palm of her hand.


	8. Chapter 8

Dr. Gregory House was alone again in 221B. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

He woke up at 7:34am. His Ramones tee shirt was neatly folded on the other pillow. On top of that was note from Cuddy, promising to stop by after work and bring some dinner.

Hi-Dee-Ho.

House shrugged back into his tee shirt then dragged himself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face until it was numb. Glancing at his reflection he saw a long pale face with tired red-streaked eyes glancing back. With the hell he put himself through the last week he was surprised he could stand to look at himself at all. After a brief hunt for his Vicodin he limped off to the kitchen.

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House sat at the table sipping extra strong coffee. Still a bit shaky, but at least his headache had dwindled down to a merely annoying throb. If his memory was correct he had spent maybe seven of the last thirty-six hours awake. Considering he often slept less than five hours a night he felt that was something worth marveling over.

It was Day Two of the Cuddy-enforced rest period. And it wasn't even 8am yet. He knew the one thing he dreaded almost as much as pain was going to find him: Boredom.

I'm going to be climbing the walls before noon, he thought morosely, sipping more coffee.

It was enough to make him go on another bender.

Wait a second...

He threw open the door to the cabinet by the microwave, the one where he kept his scotch and bourbon. It was empty.

"Lisa, you sneaky little wench," he muttered out loud, shutting the cabinet door.

Hi-Dee-Ho indeed.

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Cameron showed up at lunchtime with a reuben sandwich. No pickles.

"Playing hooky, Cameron? Can I see your hall pass?"

"My lunch hour is my own time. How are you doing?" She was still in her white doctor coat, sitting with him on the sofa, looking back and forth at him and Steve McQueen's cage.

As always she looked ready to take on the world. House wondered how she managed to make herself do that every single day without gagging.

"How am I doing? Let's see...", said House, ripping the foil from the sandwich. "First I throw myself into a four day scotch and insomnia oblivion. Then some certain doctors who shall remain nameless for the time being tattle on me because they think I can't do my job. So Boss Lady pulls my authorization and orders me to stay home for three days. For the last thirty-six hours I've been unconscious or too weak to stand up longer than five minutes, so I haven't been able to do any serious damage as of yet. That's how I'm doing. Thanks for asking." After his little speech he took a breath and wolfed down half the sandwich in three bites.

"We were concerned about you."

"I never said you weren't," he said, just to see her reaction. He wasn't disappointed. She was thrown for a second and she knew he had seen it.

"I've been answering your mail. Foreman and Chase have split your clinic hours," said Cameron, returning her gaze to Steve McQueen.

"So you should be. Here's a novel idea, Dr. Cameron, tell me something I don't know." He said it louder and more caustically than he had to, but he wasn't being sarcastic for the sake of being sarcastic. He didn't want her thinking she could just drop by whenever she felt like it, and he sure as hell didn't want her around if Cuddy decided to come back early. The fact that Cameron still had a crush on him was all but tattooed on her forehead. She was still under the delusion that she could fix him.

Cameron glared him icily. "What the hell set you off on that bender in the first place?"

House polished off the remains of the reuben.

"That's between me and the Gods of scotch and insomnia." He balled up the foil and tossed it at her. Cameron caught it without flinching.

"Would it kill you to express your feelings just once?"

"I'm not the one who has a problem with my feelings, Dr. Cameron. But tell me this–if you were so concerned for my welfare why did you wait four days before voicing your concern?"

"You would have fought us every step of the way," she said without missing a beat.

"So you waited until you thought I was too weak to fight back. That's an interesting approach."

"Being the stubborn bastard you are it was the only approach. I have to get back to work."

Halfway to the door she suddenly stopped and turned around. "You liked the sandwich"

"Yes, I did," he answered truthfully.

"Thanks. I made it myself. Let me know if you want another one," she said, then stalked out the door.

It must have taken all her willpower not to slam it.


	9. Chapter 9

_Stubborn bastard_. That was a label he could hardly deny. It didn't bother him. Taking into account all the other names he had been called to his face and behind his back, _stubborn bastard_ could almost be a badge of honor.

Cameron needed to get over her school-girl crush, pronto.

Just shut up and be a doctor, Cameron, House thought. That's all I want from you.

But he had to admit she made one hell of reuben sandwich.

It was 1pm. _General Hospital_ wasn't on until three. Even longer until Cuddy could stop by. He was bored out of his skull. House stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes.

Damn it all to hell.

Hmmm...just a minute. Cuddy Cuddy Lisa Cuddy. His boss. His lover. His friend.

Will she leave her car out front and stay over for a third night? We'll see, won't we? Maybe she'll bring a change of clothes.

Damn, she looked good in that Ramones shirt, he thought as he fell asleep.

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Cuddy shook him awake and he nearly went through the ceiling.

"Christ, Lisa, _don't do that_!" House cried as his heart slammed into his ribcage.

"Sorry, Greg."

The table was littered with Chinese take-out boxes and bottles of Pepsi. Steve McQueen's little pink nose sniffed at all the goodies.

House swallowed a Vicodin and glanced at the clock. 6:30pm. Grabbing one of the Pepsi bottles he said, "I shouldn't drink this. The caffeine will keep me up all night."

Cuddy tossed him a napkin and chopsticks. "After several gallons of scotch I'm sure you can handle one soda."

"Speaking of scotch, where's my liquor?"

"In a safe place."

"I want it back."

"You'll get it back. Don't panic."

"_Thief_."

"Quit your whining and eat," Cuddy said, munching an eggroll.

"Dammit, Lisa," he grumbled, then plowed into a box of chicken fried rice.

There was a knock at the door.

House and Cuddy froze in mid-chew.

Another knock. A muffled voice called out, "House? You okay in there?"

"Oh, for crying out loud..." After fumbling for his cane, House limped to the front door, opened it a bit and peeked out. A smirking Wilson peeked back.

"Is it my imagination again or does that car over there look awfully familiar?"

"Jimmy..."

"I had to see for myself."

"You came. You saw. Now leave."

"Admit it, you're in love with her," Wilson said quietly.

That one caught House by surprise. For a full ten seconds he was speechless. "You know, Wilson, it just suddenly dawned on me how much you would benefit from a good whack to the groin area with my cane."

Ignoring him, Wilson pushed on the door until House could do nothing but stagger backward into the wall. "It's okay," he called. "I'm just checking on my good friend Dr. House." He strode into the living room. "Oh, hello Dr. Cuddy."

"Dr. Wilson," she said stonily.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner," Wilson said, eyeing the take-out containers. "It's just...well, Dr. House here has had kind of a bad week and I just wanted to make sure he was all right. It's nice to see he's in your good hands, Dr.Cuddy."

Wilson could feel House's icy death glare but didn't turn around. He waited for a smack from the cane that never arrived. Instead, House simply limped past him back to the sofa.

"I'm just fine, Dr. Wilson. Thank you for your concern," House said.

"Great." Wilson clapped his hands together like a game show host about to announce a big prize. "I'll let the two of you get back to your meal. Consider yourself lucky, House. Cuddy is one of the best doctors around. She'll take good care of you." He smiled and left.

Together they stared at the door. Finally House spoke up: "He really laid it on thick, didn't he?"

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After several containers of Chinese food, some idle chit-chat, and two hours of television so mindless he couldn't even remember what the hell he watched, Greg House dozed off again.

"Greg." Cuddy tugged on his arm. "Let's get you to bed."

As he stumbled to the bathroom, he noticed a shiny black gym bag on the other side of the sofa.

"I actually remembered to bring some clothes," Cuddy said, disappearing into the bedroom with the bag.

He was washing his face when she came out wearing a silky dark green nightshirt. It looked great, but he thought of something else he'd rather see her in.

"Come here," he said, grabbing her wrist, practically dragging her behind him. Back in the bedroom, he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a black Jack Daniels tee shirt. "Put this on."

"Are you serious?"

"Just humor me. I've had a bad week." He settled on the edge of the bed, resting his chin on the cane, never taking his eyes off her. Even when she deliberately turned her back to change, he didn't blink.

"Is this better, Dr. House?" Cuddy smiled as she stuffed the green nightshirt back into the gym bag.

"You have no idea."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N–I'd like to thank everyone for all the positive reviews. I'm glad everyone is enjoying the story._

"Why did I even bother to bring any clothes if you're just going to have me wear yours?"

"There's just something about an uptight lady doctor in a Jack Daniels shirt. It really gets the blood flowing."

"Yes, well, this uptight lady doctor is ordering a certain cranky diagnostician to get some rest" She playfully ran her fingers through his hair. No effort was made to push her hand away. "Sweet dreams."

"Sweet nothing. I haven't remembered my dreams for years."

"So you've said."

"So I have. And it's the truth."

"Get some sleep, Greg."

"Whatever you say, Doctor."

Twenty minutes later Gregory House was in a deep sleep.

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Cuddy didn't mention that she had heard everything Wilson said at the door.

_Admit it, you're in love with her._

Like Gregory House ever would.

She knew full well what she was getting into when they became involved–his moodiness, his arrogance, his Vicodin addiction, driving everyone around him crazy just because he could. He still tried to duck out of clinic duty like a kid avoiding homework. He was still behind on his patient files. There wasn't going to be any big white wedding, no home with a white picket fence, no cat and dog and 2.5 kids.

Cuddy was perfectly fine with that.

House never asked for special treatment, not for himself anyway. Was it because he knew he wouldn't get it or because he didn't want it?

The only thing he ever asked from her was to be let in when he showed up on her doorstep. That and indulging his sudden tee shirt fetish.

Once again Cuddy was pressed up against the sleeping doctor, one hand around his waist, the other idly playing with his wiry hair. His shirt was pulled up a bit so she could feel his warm skin against her own. It was fair to say she was indulging her own little fetish.

Greg House was on his back, his head turned away from her. It was 12:30am. He had been asleep for two hours. Insomnia would find him again soon enough so Cuddy was careful not to disturb him. Aside from recovering from this latest blitz, she wondered how long it had been since he slept through the night.

For the time being he was having a few hours of well deserved peace. Sweet dreams, Dr. House.

Tomorrow was her day off. She planned to stay with him...if he wanted. Will he be tired of her company and want to be left alone? Only one way to find out.

"I love you, Gregory House," she whispered to the sleeping doctor. Maybe someday he will actually want to hear it.

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Piano music floated in. Not from a stereo.

It was still dark outside. A bleary-eyed glance at the clock told Cuddy it wasn't quite 6am. She was alone in the bed.

She followed the music out to the living room. Greg House was at his piano, oblivious to everything else around him. His long musicians fingers flew over the eighty-eight keys. Cuddy stood quietly by the sofa, and recognized the music as coming from the movie _The Piano_. There was no sheet music. He was playing from memory.

Ten minutes passed before there was a break in the music.

"Do you always play so early in the morning?" she asked.

House turned to her, surprised. He had obviously been awake for a while. He had shaved.

"I haven't played in a while. I was in the mood," he said, as if everyone played the piano at the crack of dawn.

"Don't your neighbors ever complain?"

"Not yet and I don't care if they do."

"In any case, you play very well."

"Thank you." A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. He spun around on the bench until he completely faced her. "I've made a decision. An important one, I think. Since you're up I should go ahead and tell you."

Cuddy straightened up, puzzled, wondering what he was talking about. "Decision? What decision?"

"I've decided Stacy and I should separate. What do you think?"

Somehow Cuddy made it to the sofa before her knees buckled under her. If House noticed, he didn't show it. His face was completely blank.

"What do you mean by 'separate'?"

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, House said, "You saw that meltdown I had the other day. That was just one of many since she left. Stacy hasn't come back. That bastard Mark won and I lost. And I'm really fucking tired of dwelling on it."

"And this is something you just decided to do..._now_?"

"It's something I've wanted to do for a long time. Up until now I never had a reason to do it."

"What reason is that?

"My scotch budget can't handle it anymore," he said, looking at the floor. "It doesn't really matter. I've made my decision."

"Well...uh, okay Greg," a flabbergasted Cuddy stuttered. "If you, uh...if you think that's for the best, then by all means...separate."

"I'm officially separated! Don't try to talk me out of it." Turning back to the piano, he said, "Let's see if I can wake up a few of the neighbors."

As he played, Gregory House mused over the real reason he decided to 'separate' from Stacy–that night he had dreamed of Lisa Cuddy and he remembered the dream.


	11. Chapter 11

House didn't have any use for religion, astrology, tarot cards and the like. He didn't believe his luck would change if the sun was in Leo and the moon was in Scorpio. He didn't believe in God.

But he did believe he was a man in transition. His life was changing and he couldn't deny it anymore.

There was the dream, the first he had remembered in at least seven years. It was just a simple dream starring Lisa Cuddy, simple to the point of being absurd, but it burned an image in his mind as if he had stared at a bright light for too long. If dreams were messages manifested from the subconscious, then his had walked up and smacked him upside the head for being so fucking stupid.

_There's a woman in your dreams and her name isn't Stacy. There's a woman in your bed with her arms wrapped around you and her name isn't Stacy._

_If Stacy loved you she wouldn't have left. How many more bottles of scotch do you need to get that through your head, genius?_

The answer–none. It was time to let Stacy go.

Of course, it wasn't that easy.

She had been a part of his life, whether she was actually there or not, for a very long time. Getting rid of the excess Stacy baggage wasn't like throwing away an empty container. This was something that had to be spread out over time. For the moment House had to settle for pushing off a few boxes to lighten the load he carried.

Lisa could appreciate the effort. He hoped he wasn't wrong about that.

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Playing the piano was escapism at its finest. His mind was stuck on the soundtrack to _The Piano_, and that in turn was stuck on repeat, but House didn't hear any complaints. When he finished thirty minutes later he was disappointed that there were no neighbors pounding on the door yelling at him to knock it off.

Clapping came from behind him. Cuddy was still on the sofa.

"Do you take requests?" she asked.

"Maybe later."

"Half an hour straight and not one sour note. I'm very impressed."

"If you're that easily impressed then you definitely need to get out more." House limped over to join her on the sofa.

"You've been up for a while," she said, looking over his clean-shaven face. "Is the insomnia back already?"

"It never left to begin with," he said, lazily twirling his cane.

"Doesn't that ever bother you, Greg?"

"It does if I let it. You've seen the results of that. When I have a hold of the insomnia and not the other way around it's something I can live with."

"Considering how little you seem to sleep it's no wonder you don't remember your dreams."

After a brief pause in the cane twirling, House said, "Lisa, that's something you hardly need to worry about. I sure as hell don't."

"Just so you know, Greg," Cuddy said, smiling coyly, "As much as this drives me crazy, and as much_ you_ drive me crazy, I've dreamed about you for years."

As that revelation washed over him he tugged on the Jack Daniels shirt, pulling her closer. He felt the firm pressure of her mouth on his and every worry, pain, and regret began to melt away. As their kissing became more frenzied he threw the cane on the floor, barely hearing the crash because it didn't matter. Nothing mattered at that moment except Lisa.


	12. Chapter 12

The relationship between the two doctors didn't exactly start off on the best of terms.

The first time House showed up at his boss' door it was a warm May night. He was drunk and angry at the world.

"House, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I want an explanation," he slurred.

"For what?"

"For why you didn't let Vogler fire me."

By that time Edward Vogler and his hundred million dollars had been gone for months. It was hardly a secret that Vogler and House despised each other from Day One. Vogler did everything in his power to get the board to fire House, but Cuddy held out and sent him and his money packing. It became an unwritten rule at the hospital to not mention Voglers name around House because it got him so riled up.

"I wanted to be able to look at myself in the mirror every morning," she answered evasively, hoping it would make him shut up and go away.

After narrowing his eyes and leaning on his cane, House said, "So you're telling me you traded one hundred million dollars for a crippled drug addict and a little piece of mind. Now I'm telling you I don't believe _a goddamn word of it!_"

The door slammed in his face.

Five days later he showed up again.

"You never gave me an explanation," he said when she finally opened the door.

SLAM

At least he wasn't drunk that time.

Another nine days passed before House came back.

"Open the door, please! Dr. Cuddy, I know you're in there. Will you please open up. It's starting to rain and I'm getting soaked. Just open the door..."

Indeed, the rain soon turned into a torrential downpour and Cuddy finally relented. It was too late, House looked like a drowned rat. She led him to the kitchen where he could drip on the linoleum instead of the carpet. "Don't move," she said, then rounded a corner and reappeared with a towel.

As he toweled off his hair, House said, "All you had to do was vote yes at that board meeting..."

"Get over yourself, House. It wasn't just about you."

"So what was it about?"

Cuddy sighed and said, "We lost one hundred million dollars and I'll regret it until the day I die. But that son-of-a-bitch Vogler thought all he had to do was throw enough money at something and he would get his way. He tried to get rid of Wilson just because Wilson had the gall to disagree with him. Then he would have got rid of you and I have no doubt I would have been out on my ass next. The hospital would have been filled with Voglers yes-men kowtowing to his every whim instead of doctors helping sick patients."

For a few minutes they stood together, not speaking, the only sound being the pouring rain.

"So that was hardly about getting a little piece of mind," he said.

"You're goddamn right it wasn't."

"Can you look at yourself in the mirror every morning?"

"Yes."

"Well then," House said, drying off his cane, "You could have told me all that in the beginning and saved yourself from having to wash an extra towel."

When he showed up again the next night Cuddy's jaw hit the floor.

"What do you want now?"

"May I come in?" he asked quietly. The porch lights shined in his eyes, making them glow.

"Why, so you can ogle my 'funbags' as you so charmingly call them?"

"No," he said, then purposely lowered his gaze to her chest. "But if you want me to I have no problem with it. Or am I interrupting something? If you need a few minutes to put away the whips and chains I can wait."

"If I let you in will you shut up?" she asked incredulously.

"Maybe," he smirked. "Will you whip me if I don't? Be gentle, I bruise easily."

"Just get in here," she sighed, defeated, holding open the door. House limped past her to the living room and flopped on the couch. With his right hand he twirled the cane like a top.

"Are you going to tell me the real reason you're here?" The lady doctor leaned in the doorway with her arms folded.

"I can launch into a tangent about how a grasshopper in Mongolia jumped onto _this_ leaf instead of _that_ leaf and that set off a chain reaction which culminated in me knocking on your front door, or I can say I'm here because I want to be. The choice is yours."

"The short version is fine."

"I figured it would be. Can I have a cup of coffee or am I pushing my luck?"

"It'll be a few minutes. I have to heat some water," she said, disappearing into the kitchen. When she came back out with the coffee her guest was standing at the bookcase looking over her DVD collection.

"Coffee's ready," she said, setting the cup on the table.

"Hmm..._Titanic_, _A Room with a View_, every Jane Austen adaptation known to mankind. Chick flicks," said House languidly. "Somehow I'm not surprised."

"I'm not an _Evil Dead_ kind of gal." Cuddy settled into an overstuffed chair while House limped back to the couch.

"Sure you are. You just don't know it yet."

"Why aren't you hanging out with Wilson right now?"

"Wilson's at home playing husband. I think he wants to sleep with me, but I'm not that easy. Besides, I don't think his wife would appreciate that."

"Why don't you ever hang out with your team? Cameron seems to like you."

"Cameron is under the impression that with a little TLC I'll live happily ever after. She needs to get her head out of the clouds. Foreman doesn't like me and Chase despises me. Unfortunately, I think they're both actually smart enough to hide my body where nobody will ever find it."

"So what does all this have to do with me?"

House looked up from his coffee and smiled. "Well, despite your movie collection, you thankfully don't believe in fairytale endings. If you truly despised me you wouldn't have let me in the door. And if you wanted to kill me you would have done it a long time ago."

"Next you're going to tell me I want to sleep with you."

"Maybe you do. But like I said, I'm not that easy."

House chatted with his boss for another forty minutes, then left. He didn't thank her for the coffee, but then again, she hardly expected him to.

After that he would drop by randomly. For a while Cuddy wracked her brain trying to find a pattern to his visits, but gave up when she realized there wasn't one to find. Sometimes he would visit three nights in a row, sometimes two weeks would go by before he showed up again. The only thing consistent about House's visits was time. He would always show up between seven and eight and always leave around midnight. She soon found herself more drawn to his bright blue eyes and razor-sharp banter with each visit. By the end of summer they were calling each other Greg and Lisa instead of House and Cuddy.

Much to Cuddy's surprise, House would sometimes have sporadic conversations with her on everything from politics to books to the pros and cons of cat ownership. One night she called him on it.

"Any other time you run from conversation like a vampire from the sun."

"So?"

"So why the sudden interest in talking to another human being?"

"You're one of the three people in the world I can actually have a real conversation with, Lisa," he answered.

"The other two being...?"

"It doesn't matter." He was quiet for a few seconds then said, "I keep waiting for you to tell me to stop coming by."

"I don't mind you coming by, Greg."

"Okay. Just checking."

In all of House's visits there were two incidents that stood out in her mind. One was the first time he kissed her. It was Halloween night. Grudgingly, he had helped her pass out candy to the kids and threw in a few snarky remarks for free: "Here ya go, kids. Don't eat the wrapper. It's bad for you." Later they settled in and watched cheesy old horror movies until midnight. As he was leaving, he suddenly stopped and turned around as if he had forgotten something. He put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her close, and gently kissed her. Then he turned and left without a word, leaving her standing by the door, tasting his kiss.

Next was the first time they slept together two weeks later. Cuddy figured it stood in his mind as much as hers for one reason: It was Cuddy who had seduced him and not the other way around.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: This chapter is kind of short. Please don't hate me._

On a chilly November night, two weeks after Halloween, Cuddy was in the chair and House was lounging on the couch with his feet on the table like he owned the place. A James Bond movie flickered away on television, and House was providing his usual running commentary. Glancing over, he caught her staring at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, quickly turning back to the movie.

It was those blue eyes that did it. Those piercing blue eyes that made her hear skip a beat. As much as Cuddy hated to admit it, not that she would ever actually admit to anyone, she had always found Gregory House to be a damned attractive man, with his tall lean frame and and perpetual I'll-shave-when-I-feel-like-it stubble. But those eyes...That night when she opened the door, his eyes were like blue flames. Cuddy was mesmerized. She couldn't stop staring.

Ever since the Halloween kiss, the image of Greg House had been hanging in the back of her mind like a dusted-off painting, and it was maddening. They had kissed several times since then, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry to take it any further. Apparently, she was going to have to finish what he started.

Cuddy rose from the chair and walked around the table, intentionally in his line of sight, watching as his eyes followed her. She sank into the couch next to him, and he didn't turn back to the movie.

"What's on your mind," he said.

No answer, instead she took his hand in hers.

"Lisa, what are you doing?" He didn't return the affection but he didn't pull his hand away.

Still no answer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer, kissing him deeply.

House broke away and caught his breath. "Lisa, wait..."

"Greg, be quiet," she whispered, and kissed him again before he could say anything else. Soon she felt him relax, returning her embrace and her kiss, tasting her just as she was tasting him. Pushing him back, she straddled his lap, careful not put any weight on his right leg, and tugged at the buttons of his shirt.

"Lisa, do you..."

"Goddammit Greg, do you want me to stop?" Cuddy looked up, irritated.

"No."

"Fine. Hold still and for once in your life just shut up."

That night he stayed over well past midnight.


	14. Chapter 14

Day Three of the Cuddy-enforced rest period.

"Tell me Lisa, does sex actually qualify as getting some rest?"

They were in his bed, the blankets twisted and tangled all around them. Cuddy propped up on her elbow and said, "Considering all the effort that goes into it, I'd have to say no. But that didn't seem to stop you."

House chuckled a bit, then glanced at the clock. It was 8:10am.

"Skipping school today, Dr. Cuddy?"

"It's my day off."

"The kids are all by themselves," he said. "They're going to think Mommy and Daddy abandoned them."

"The kids will get over it."

"You're starting to sound like me. Now that's a scary thought..." he trailed off, staring at the ceiling. "Back to the old grind tomorrow. Back to pretending we can't stand the sight of each other."

"Wilson knows about us," she reminded him.

"Wilson can at least keep his yap shut about it. Someone else could have seen your car, you know."

"Well, if someone asks about it, I'll just have to tell the truth," Cuddy smiled. "I was checking to make sure one of my sick doctors was okay."

House looked over and smiled back for a few seconds, then turned to the ceiling again.

"A lot has happened in the past few days," he said.

"What's happened, Greg?" Cuddy asked, edging closer to him.

"You, me, Stacy."

"Greg, you made the right decision about Stacy."

Pulling himself up to a sitting position, House said, "I know. But when you hang on to something that long...It's just...this whole thing has given me a lot to think about. I need to be alone for a while, Lisa."

Knowing that was as close to pouring his heart out as he would get, Cuddy made no effort to push him any further.

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She wanted to shower before she left and he could hardly say no. As he was getting dressed, he remembered leaving the cane in the living room. Limping to it wasn't too bad, but bending down to get it caused a shooting pain that made him yelp. He tracked down his Vicodin, dry-swallowed one, then headed to the kitchen. A brief search of the fridge turned up a red apple. After washing it off, he limped back to the sofa to wait.

From the corner of his eye he watched Cuddy walk from the bathroom to the bedroom, then listened to zippers and clothes rustle as she packed up. Turning the apple around and around in his hands, he thought of everything that had happened between the first bottle of scotch and now. Images and words faded in and out like the screen of an old television.

He looked up as Cuddy walked into the room with the shiny gym bag over her shoulder. "Here" he said, holding out the apple. "I would have made waffles but I don't have any."

She took the apple and looked it over like it might be fake. "Thank you."

House settle back into the sofa and said, "Maybe in a few days I'll be ready to take some requests."

"I'll try to think of some. See you tomorrow, Dr. House."

"See you tomorrow, Dr. Cuddy."

He closed his eyes and listened to the front door open and close, then the sound of her car starting up and fading into the distance. Stacy suddenly appeared, Stacy who said she would never leave and did anyway when he needed her most. In his mind he saw the piles of Stacy baggage, picked up a box, and threw it out. The load was getting lighter.


	15. Chapter 15

The flickering images in his head were going by too fast. He slowed them down until they were passing by like a slide show, the pictures appearing in no particular order. House looked them over to see what he could use, what could be thrown away, and what could be saved for later.

_Wilson_: Unless he really wanted to know what it felt like to be kneecapped with a cane there was nothing to worry about with Wilson.

_Cameron_: House suspected things might boil over with her sooner or later, but he had more important things to think about at the moment. See ya, Cameron, he thought, and moved on to the next slide.

_Stacy_: Goodbye Mrs. Warner, House thought, I'm moving on. Do you hear that? I'm moving on. You've caused me enough heartache, grief, hangovers and tears to last several lifetimes. Hanging on to the memory of you has given me nothing but a giant mountain of baggage to lug around. You have a husband and I have baggage. That's hardly a fair trade. Dammit Stacy, I loved you. I really did.

He kicked off another box of Stacy baggage, his second one of the day.

_The Lisa Dream_: A silly little dream, hardly an earthshattering event for the rest of the world, but it meant more to him than anyone could ever know. Carefully, House folded up the memory and put it away. He hoped one day to share it with Lisa.

_Lisa Cuddy_: The woman he loved. The woman who loved him–a moody, drug addicted, damaged, crippled, arrogant, misanthropic insomniac.

You didn't have to let me in the door, Lisa, he thought, tapping his cane of the floor. All you had to do was tell me to get lost and that would have been the end of it.

House opened his eyes and stared at the piano.

_I've dreamed about you for years._

_Years._ She had said _years_. Apparently he wasn't the only one who kept his feelings hidden. Through all the screaming matches about treating patients, nagging about clinic duty, pulling his authorization, he always believed Cuddy put up with him because he able to solve difficult cases, not because she actually _liked_ him.

It all began to snowball simply because he wanted to see if she would invite him into her home. He had a vision of Cuddy wondering what would happen if she let him in. Did she expect this to happen?

Lisa Cuddy was the last woman on the planet he expected to fall in love with. It was a pleasant surprise.

He remembered the night she seduced him, how she had been damn near aggressive about it.

Why did you let me in the door, Lisa? It wasn't just because you liked me.

The reason she let him in would probably remain a mystery. Whatever it was, he was glad it overruled her reason to leave him standing on the porch.

Cuddy promised to tell him if she ever wanted out. Her only promise so far. It was one more promise than Stacy ever made.

Rustling sounds brought him out of this thoughts. Steve McQueen was running around the cage. His food dish was empty. House got the rat food from the closet and filled up the dish until was overflowing. "Sorry Steve."

Looking into the bedroom, he saw the twisted blankets and the hamper piled with rumpled clothes. Chores had taken a backseat to his scotch during the past week and now it time to play catch-up. Usually, he didn't let his laundry pile up since smaller loads of wash were a hell of lot easier on him and his leg. Sighing, he stripped the bed and limped with the blankets to the laundry room. Everything was washed in cold water on the normal cycle. There weren't any delicates to shred or shrink.

Back in the bedroom, he sorted his clothes, turned socks right side out, checked pockets for forgotten papers and money. The whole time he knew something wasn't quite right but he couldn't put his finger on it. After House finished sorting, it hit him–the black Jack Daniels shirt was missing.


	16. Chapter 16

"I'm really not in the mood for company for right now."

"I brought food," Wilson said, holding up a big greasy bag and six pack of beer.

"Jimmy..."

"I can't eat all of this by myself."

"Why don't you share it with your wife?"

"My wife isn't speaking to me."

House paused for a few beats, then held the door open. His friend clomped to the living room, leaving the scent of burgers and fries in his wake.

Limping back to the living room, House found the younger doctor taking burgers the size of dinner plates out of the bag, followed by two giant orders of steak fries. Steve McQueen went bananas at the sight of all the edibles so close, yet so far. Using a bottle opener on his keychain, Wilson opened up two beers.

Picking up the top bun and looking the mayonnaise, cheese, bacon, and greasy hamburger patty, House said, "Yummy. Do I even want to know how much cholesterol is in this?"

"Nope," Wilson said, wiping ketchup off his chin. "But I'm sure we can finish these and not have a heart attack in the meantime."

"That's nice. You should put that on a greeting card." House washed down a bite with beer. "Why do you always buy this crap beer? I get more of buzz from iced tea."

"You never complained before."

"I'm complaining now." He looked over at his friend. "What's up with Julie?"

"The usual," said Wilson, nibbling on a fry. "You're never home, Jimmy. I think you're having an affair, Jimmy. She hasn't talked to me for two days."

"Yikes."

"The only thing I can do is wait for her cool off and hope she'll eventually pick up the phone."

Wilson then changed the subject, talking about various goings-on at the hospital since House had been resting at home. He opened two more beers and handed one over.

"Where's Cuddy?" Wilson asked.

"Home, as far as I know," said House, staring at his beer bottle as if he wished to crawl into it and avoid Wilson's questions.

"You didn't have a fight, did you?"

House drained half his beer before he said, "No. I just wanted to be alone for a while. Why do you care what Lisa and I do?"

"_Lisa?_" Wilson asked, watching his friend blush. "My God, it really is true. Dr. Gregory House is in love with Dr. Lisa Cuddy. I'm waiting for the sky to fall in."

"Dr. Wilson, Jimmy, do you remember what I said about my cane and your groin area?"

"The moon will turn red and the mountains will crumble..."

"For Christ's sake..."

"Alright alright." The younger doctor smiled and sipped his beer. "It's nice to see you with someone again all these years after Stacy, even if that someone is your boss."

"Stacy and I have separated."

Wilson frowned. "Stacy's been gone for eight years."

"That's right," House said, finishing his second beer.

"So how can two people who haven't seen each other for eight years be separated? By definition aren't you already separated? I don't get it."

"You don't have to get it. Lisa gets it, and that's all I care about."

"Wow, you're really serious about her, aren't you?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Wow," Wilson said again, shaking his head and packing the remains of his dinner back into the greasy bag. "And you have no problem with the fact that she's the Dean of Medicine?"

"I have no problem with it. Lisa doesn't have a problem with it. _You_ didn't have a problem with it before," House said pointedly. "Why do you have one now? I'm not married and neither is she."

"So that makes it all okay?"

"It doesn't make it anything. Lisa just happens to be my boss, that's all. And I'm getting a little tired of justifying the actions of two very consenting single adults to a man who has been married how many times?"

"Alright. Point taken." Wilson opened the last of the beers and grabbed the remote. "Is _The O.C._ on tonight?"

He couldn't find _The O.C._, but did find a documentary on tornado chasers. For two hours they made fun of the crazy people going after giant vacuum cleaners. After it was over, the younger doctor gathered up his things.

"I need to get home."

"You said Julie wasn't speaking to you."

"She isn't, but she's letting me sleep on the couch. I should be there in case she decides to throw something at me. I'll consider that progress. See ya later."

"Just remember to duck," House called after his friend.

He cleaned up the beer bottles and looked at the clock. It was 11:15pm. He had been up for nearly eighteen hours and was feeling tired. Tomorrow it was back to the hospital and clinic duty. Back to everything. He washed up, brushed up and went to bed.

As House drifted off he wondered if Lisa was curled up in her bed, sleeping in his tee shirt.


	17. Chapter 17

Gregory House was wide awake in the early hours of dawn, the only light coming from the green numbers of the alarm clock. It wasn't set to go off for another forty-five minutes, but being awake long before he truly had to get up was nothing new.

He was all too aware that the other side of his bed was empty.

On more than one occasion, when he spent the night at Cuddy's and now vice versa, he woke up to find her arms wrapped around him. House knew she intentionally waited for him to fall asleep to do that since she knew he didn't like to be touched unless the mood struck. It was annoying as hell at first, but gradually the doctor welcomed her warm body embracing his. The only gripe he had about it now was the challenge of untangling himself from her grip without waking her up.

Looking over at the empty pillow, he wished Cuddy was there, wearing his tee shirt, her arms around his waist.

He had dreamed about her again.

What had he done to deserve someone like her? Whatever it was, he was glad he did it.

House closed his eyes and kicked off another Stacy box.

The fear that Cuddy would leave had diminished a bit. The fear would always be there, hiding in a dark corner, but right now he could safely say that she wasn't going anywhere for a while. She had always been there to help, whether he deserved it or not. She had gone well out her way to make sure he remembered that promise. For the moment he let himself believe she would never see the need to keep it.

He had dreamed about her again.

Another dream of Lisa Cuddy, as stupidly simple as the first. Yet here he was, replaying it over and over again, admiring every color, straining to hear every sound.

This is just too fucking surreal, he thought and chuckled.

Two dreams in a row. His life would hardly be a disaster if there was a third.

_See you tomorrow, Dr. House._

In a few hours it was back to being Dr. House, the man who hates the world and everyone in it. The man who pops Vicodin like breath mints, hates clinic duty with a passion that burns like a supernova, and thinks nothing of insulting a patient to his or her face and whoever else happens to be in the room.

And he hates his boss, Dr. Cuddy. He hates her because she actually wants him to do his job. He hates her because she has power over him. He hates her simply because he can.

Oh, if they only knew...

The other side of the bed was empty. He wished Lisa was with him because he didn't want to be Dr. House just yet, he wanted to be Greg.

Damn it all to hell. Why did you send her away, idiot? the doctor thought. Just so you could be all alone and analyze everything to death? Well, you got your wish. Are you happy now?

No, he wasn't happy at all.

Faint light was making its way to the windows. Cuddy should be up by now. He wondered if she dreamed about him.

The alarm buzzed. The sound made his skin crawl. Christ, he hated that damn thing. Several times he had to restrain himself from smashing it against the wall. He only kept it around for the rare occasions when he slept more than five hours and when he was perturbed because the woman he loved didn't have her arms wrapped around him.

Cuddy was almost always at the hospital before him. Hopefully he could get her alone for a few minutes. He wanted his liquor back, and he wanted to know if she had any requests she wanted to hear.


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: Well folks, I think the story is coming to an end so I'm going to be winding it down over the next few chapters. Thanks to everyone who read it and many many thanks for all the positive feedback. It really means a lot to me to know that there are people who read and enjoy my work._

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"Good morning, Dr. House."

"Good morning, Dr. Wilson."

"Welcome back. Your crew is anxiously awaiting the return of their fearless leader."

"Yeah right. They probably ran down the batteries on my GameBoy," House said, limping to his office. "You didn't tape _General Hospital_ by any chance, did you?"

"No, I didn't get the memo on that." Wilson held the door open for his friend. "With all that booze in your system it must have slipped your mind. Or maybe it was thoughts of a certain woman doctor spinning around in your head."

House shot a cool look at the younger doctor. "How are things with Julie? Did she hurl any small appliances at you this morning?" He tossed his knapsack on the floor and flopped down at the desk.

"She threw a coffee cup at me," Wilson confessed, his face turning pink. "Thankfully there wasn't any coffee in it. But she did settle down long enough to agree to have a talk after I get home tonight."

"Love is grand," House smirked and swung his good leg onto the desk. "Are you going home tonight or sleeping in your office?"

"I'm going home. Next time the coffee cup won't be empty." Wilson raised his eyebrows at the doctor. "Are _you_ going home tonight or having a sleep-over with your new best friend?"

"That's for me to know and my new best friend to find out."

"Are you going to tell me what you meant by being separated from Stacy?"

"No."

"Dr. House," a voice called from behind Wilson. Cameron was smiling in the doorway with Chase and Foreman hovering behind her. "It's nice to see you back."

"Hello kids." House smiled and twirled his cane. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course," Chase said dryly, folding his arms.

"Your sincerity is overwhelming, Dr. Chase. I'm sure the seminary school had a three day mourning period after you left." He watched the blonde doctor roll his eyes, then turned to Foreman. "Anything happen that I should absolutely know about? Or shouldn't, for that matter."

"Nothing that defies explanation," Foreman shrugged. "Unless an honest-to-God case of vasculitus intrigues you."

"It doesn't. Anything else?"

"Your paperwork is about a mile high. There are about a million forms that need your signature."

"Ah...paperwork, the reason I get up in the morning." He stood up and waved off the younger doctors. "You all go do whatever the hell it is you do when there is nothing to do. I'll be by to finish my beloved paperwork when I damn well feel like it." Turning to Wilson, he said, "You too. Out."

"Where's the fire?" Wilson asked, stumbling to the door.

The doctor popped a Vicodin and said, "No fire. I just want to have a chat with my boss."

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"You made it," a wonderfully familiar voice called out.

House watched as Cuddy made her way down the corridor, holding a stack of files.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, leaning on the cane. "Was there a bet going against my inevitable return? It was Foreman's idea, wasn't it? He's a sly little devil. How much did he lose?"

"Welcome back, Dr. House," she smiled.

"Thank you." He glanced down at her low-cut sweater. "I see you brought the twins out to play. You didn't have to go all-out just for my sake."

"Your charm is still intact."

"It takes more than a little scotch to dull my charm, Dr. Cuddy. But you already know that."

Suddenly aware the corridor was filling up with doctors, nurses, and patients going every which way, Cuddy said, "Let's continue this discussion in my office."

"Lead the way, boss."

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"You still owe me four clinic hours this week."

"So what else is new. Am I going to get my liquor back, or do I have to pay a ransom?" House asked after he closed the office door. His boss opened a file and pretended to read it.

"I didn't realize your liquor meant that much to you."

"It's mine and I want it back."

"It's in the trunk of my car. Feel free to get it." Cuddy looked up and saw him standing in the middle of her office, looking as rumpled as ever, but his eyes were surprisingly clear. "Don't you have patients to see or work to do?"

"No patients with life-threatening illnesses that I know of, and some paperwork to catch up on."

"Are you going to do your paperwork?"

"Eventually." The doctor tilted his head. "You know very well I can't drive home on a motorcycle with a box of booze in my lap."

"That is a problem." The Dean of Medicine rounded the desk and sat in her comfy chair. "But I'm sure a brilliant doctor like you has a solution." She rested her chin on her hands and waited.

The brilliant doctor took a few steps toward the desk and said, "There is only one reasonable solution I can see for the woman who was brave enough to kidnap my scotch and bourbon. She has to swing by my place and release it into my custody. And maybe she can persuaded to stay for a while."

"You said you wanted to be alone."

"That was yesterday. This is today."

"Are you lonely, Dr. House?"

"When I push, you push back. That's a quality I admire in a certain lady doctor whose company I'm in the mood for."

"It's a tempting offer." She drummed her nails on the blotter. "Why should I take it?"

"Because you have some requests you want to hear me play," he said, looking into her blue eyes. "Because you don't want me to drink all that scotch and bourbon by myself, and because you want to."

Cuddy leaned back into her chair. "Throw in dinner and you have a deal."

"I knew I could talk you into it. Now if you'll excuse me I have paperwork to do." House turned and limped to the door, then paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"Lisa," he said quietly.

She glanced up and tilted her head in question.

House smiled wickedly. "You can keep the tee shirt."


	19. Chapter 19

House opened the door and smiled. "Evening."

"Evening." Cuddy smiled in return. In her arms was a box full of bourbon and scotch.

"Come on in." he said, holding open the door. She breezed past him and turned to the kitchen. He followed and watched as she loaded the bottles into the cabinet.

"Happy now, Greg?" she smirked.

"Very happy," the doctor said, leaning against the counter.

"You said we were having dinner."

"No, _you_ said we were having dinner. I just agreed to it."

"I don't smell any food cooking," she said, closing the cabinet door. The box sat empty on the counter. Neither made a move to discard it.

"Dinner is on the way. You didn't specify what you wanted, Lisa, therefore you can't complain about what you get, and you can't say I didn't hold up my end of the agreement."

"Careful what I what wish for, I just might get it."

"That's always a bitch."

"What are we having?" she asked, folding her arms. House tried not to stare at her chest and was unsuccessful.

"I shouldn't say. Karma might bite you in the ass again," House said, tossing the cane from hand to hand. "I got what I wanted with no regrets as of yet, so the evening's not a total loss. At least not for me."

"So what did you get?"

"You in my home, bringing back my liquor, of course."

"That's all you wanted?"

"Again, I'm just holding up my end of the agreement. Remember, I gave a list of reasons of why you should accept my offer of coming over hereand you didn't say no to any of them. I said you wanted to come over simply because you wanted to, and here you are, making no effort to high-tail it out of here. I said you didn't want me to drink all the scotch and bourbon by myself and you didn't disagree." He took a bottle of scotch from the cabinet, then fetched two glasses. "Dinner was your idea and I've taken care of that." House set the glasses down and poured couple of fingers into each one. Handing a glass to Cuddy, he continued. "The only thing left is to play some requests for you. As long as I know the songs I plan to hold up my end of that agreement. So as you can see, this whole evening was _your_ idea. _You_ wanted to come over to my place, _you_ wanted to drink some of my scotch, _you_ wanted to hear me play the piano. If I were a betting man I'd have to wager that you're here because you can't enough of me."

Clicking her nails on the glass, Cuddy said, "That's quite a speech, Greg. Did you spend the afternoon rehearsing it in your head?"

"Am I that transparent?" House threw back his scotch and set the empty glass in the sink. "I also considered that you might want to get me drunk, tie me up, and have your way with me. But if you want to tie me up and have your way with me all you have to do is ask."

"I left my whips and handcuffs at home," Cuddy said, sipping her scotch.

"That's too bad." He tilted his head, his electric blue eyes glinting in the kitchen light. "I should stay sober anyway. I need to keep an eye on you."

Cuddy nearly choked on the remains of her drink. "Keep an eye on me? What for?"

"You stole my liquor," he said, taking the empty glass from her hand and drawing her closer.  
"You stole my tee shirt. Next you'll be driving home with my piano strapped to the roof of your car."

The lady doctor slipped her arms around his waist. "I brought your liquor back and you said I could keep the shirt."

"Hmmm...true and true. Are you going to steal my piano?"

"I'll pass on that one. It looks kind of heavy."

"It's nice to know my boss has some integrity," he said, bringing his mouth to hers. The scotch tasted sweet on her lips. His fingers became entangled in her hair.

Pounding on the front door. Dinner had arrived.

"Dammit," House scowled, annoyed at the interruption. "Karma decided it's my turn to get bitten on the ass."


	20. Chapter 20

"I have to say that you've made a remarkable recovery," Cuddy said between mouthfuls of ravioli. "Four days ago you passed out at this very table and I had to drag you to the couch."

"You can't keep me down. I've been thinking about changing my name to Superman, but then I'd have to go through all the trouble of getting new checks and credit cards. Still, Superman House has a nice to ring to it." He finished off his lasagna and washed it down with ginger ale. "Superman House, it just rolls off the tongue."

The lady doctor raised an eyebrow. "Those three days off did you some good, but something's different."

"If you say so."

"I don't just say so, I know so."

"Okay, what's different?" House asked, refilling his glass of ginger ale.

"You."

"Really." He reached over and refilled her glass, the bubbles spilling over. "Do tell."

Cuddy leaned into the table and said, "That was hardly the first time you drank yourself into a coma about Stacy. When you get into those moods you sulk around for weeks. Then two days ago the strangest thing happened: After years and years you decided to separate, as you call it, from Stacy. Now barely forty-eight hours afterwards, that bender might as well have not even happened."

The doctor smiled, his chin in his hand. "I told you my scotch budget couldn't take it anymore."

"There was much more to that decision than your booze supply, Greg."

"True. Stacy and I are separated and when the divorce is finalized you'll be the first to know. Do you really want to know why I made that decision?"

"Yes."

"Careful what you wish for, Lisa." He was no longer smiling, his face now locked in a contemplative deadpan.

"Tell me. I can handle it," she said.

House was looking at the table, feeling the weight of her gaze. Glancing up, he said, "That night I had a dream. About you."

"You told me--"

"I know what I told you," he broke in. "That night my dream made a liar out of me. My point is that night I dreamed about you and I finally realized that you were with me and Stacy wasn't and I had wasted far too much time and scotch hanging on to those memories. So now I'm kicking them off. Words cannot describe what a tremendous relief it is to get the weight of those memories off my back. It's amazing how that can help in recovering from a bender."

Cuddy was sitting straight in her chair, slackjawed. "Jesus, Greg..."

"Did you get what you wished for?" The doctor sipped his ginger ale.

"No," Cuddy said softly. "But that's a good thing. Have you dreamed of a me again?"

"Last night."

"That's nice to hear."

"Yes it is." Chin back in his hand, House said, "Now let's talk about you."

Cuddy frowned. "What about me?"

"Hmmm...where to start. A smart, gorgeous woman like you, a doctor, the Dean of Medicine at a major hospital. You could have any man out there and yet somehow you chose a jackass like me. The man you loved to hate became the man you hated to love, and I'll bet that drove you insane on more than a few occasions. You wanted to keep our relationship a secret and I had no problem with that. You always wanted me to go to your place, and as long as you opened the door I had no problem with that, either. Then I stayed up four nights in a row and drank twenty gallons of booze. You came over here, took care of me, cooked my food, slept in my bed, wore my clothes, and left your car out front. As soon as I got better that could have been the end of it, but no, here you are again with your car out front where any idiot driving by can see it. You discovered something--you don't care what other people think and it's a great feeling, isn't it Lisa? It's a weight off your back that words can't describe."

The room was silent. They're eyes were locked, each soundlessly daring the other to look away first. Finally, Cuddy turned to the wall.

"People are going to find out sooner or later," she said. "If they happen to find out sooner, I don't really care. It won't change anything."

"Nope." House agreed. "You'll still be the Dean of Medicine and I'll still be a jackass."

Cuddy had to laugh at that. "Are you finished with your dinner, Dr. Jackass?"

"Sure. Why?"

"You still have one more agreement to hold up. You have to play my requests."

"No problem," he said, gathering up the empty plates. "If I don't you'll change your mind and steal my damn piano."

"No," Cuddy smirked. "It's too big. I'll just take the rest of your tee shirts."


	21. Chapter 21

Looking around, House saw his boss sitting on the sofa.

"Get over here," he said, patting the empty space next to him on the bench. "I'm your piano man, not your chauffeur." She slid onto the bench and gave a quick him a kiss on the cheek. "That's more like it. Just don't request 'Chopsticks' and 'Melancholy Baby' or my head might explode."

"Do you know 'Moon River'? Cuddy asked, resting her chin on her lover's shoulder.

"Like the back of my hand," he said, and launched into a rendition that made her believe him.

After he finished, Cuddy had to ask, "How long have you been playing?"

House turned and said, "Since I was thirteen. One of my birthday presents that year was piano lessons. By my next birthday I didn't need a teacher anymore."

"Wow."

"At least it wasn't tuba lessons. The kid next door got those."

"Did you ever think about becoming a professional musician?"

"I have to admit it crossed my mind. My mother seemed to think I was the second coming of Van Cliburn and would have supported me in that. But in the end it was just a silly pipe dream. Besides, how many versions of 'Moon River' does the world need?" He didn't know why he was telling her all that. Even Wilson didn't know about his brief flirtation with becoming Van Cliburn, Jr.

"Do you know 'Danny Boy'?"

House smirked. "What do you think?"

For over an hour House entertained his audience of one with 'Danny Boy', 'Yesterday', the theme from _Love Story_, and even threw in some Brahms and Liszt just to hear more glowing praise of his piano skills. It was something he thoroughly enjoyed.

A loud knock on the door made him stop in mid-song.

The doctor looked from his lover to the door and back again. "I didn't order a second course...or dessert."

Opening the door, a red-eyed and teary Wilson stood holding a suitcase.

"What the hell happened to you?" House blurted out, concerned. He had never seen his friend look so distraught.

"She threw me out," Wilson said, his voice quavering. "She never wants to see my face again."

"Get in." He opened the door wider. As Wilson passed, House observed a bruise under his left eye.

As he closed the door, the older doctor heard Cuddy. "James, I'm so sorry."

"Dr. Wilson needs a place to stay," House said as he limped back to his guests. He turned his friend's cheek and looked at the growing bruise.

Cuddy saw it and gasped. "Did she _hit_ you?"

The younger shook his head. "No, it's not what you think. It's nothing..." He trailed off and stared off into space.

"Lisa," House said softly as he helped Wilson out of his coat. "I think we better call it a night."

She nodded in agreement. "Yes, we should." She gathered up her coat and purse and watched sadly as Wilson staggered to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," said House.

"Greg, you have nothing to be sorry about." She gave him a quick kiss. "Make sure Wilson is all right. I'll see you tomorrow." Cuddy turned and left without looking back.

In the kitchen, Wilson helped himself to the bourbon. By the time House filled a bag with ice, he had knocked back four shots.

"Take it easy. You're not a fish." House put the bag of ice in Wilson's hand, then examined the bruise again. "This didn't just spontaneously appear. Somebody got you good."

Holding the ice to his swelling cheek, the younger doctor said, "Julie didn't hit me. She was angry, just started throwing things, and I got in the way. It wasn't on purpose."

"What hit you?"

"An ashtray."

"At least there wasn't coffee in it."

Dr. Wilson let out a stifled laugh. "Dammit House, I went there tonight with every intention of working our marriage out. She wouldn't listen to word I said..." The laugh became a sob.

House put his arm his friend's shoulder. "Jimmy, it's okay. You can stay here as long as you need." He fetched another glass and poured two more bourbons. "One more for old time's sake. Tonight you've earned the right to be miserable. Drink up."


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: Remember what I said about ending this story in the next few chapters? Maybe I lied. This story has taken on a life of it's own, and as long you all will continue to read it, and if you don't mind me focusing on the House/Wilson friendship for a while, I'll continue to write it and see where it goes. PM me or leave a message in a review and let me know._

_P. S. Don't be surprised if I change my mind again. I'm funny that way._ ;p

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The bourbon settled Wilson's nerves a bit. He sat on the end of the sofa with the bag of ice on his cheek and stared towards the front door, not so much looking at as looking through it, as if Julie would come barging in saying it was all a mistake and she wanted him to come home.

House hunted down a box of tissues. When he held it out to his friend, Wilson looked at it as if he had never seen one before.

"I ruined your evening," Wilson said in a strangely detached way. To House, who was on the other end of the sofa, it sounded like his guest was in a roomful of people, speaking to no one in particular.

"You didn't ruin anything."

"You were having a nice evening with Cuddy and I ruined it."

"No, you didn't. Stop saying that."

"I heard you in there," the younger doctor said, his eyes welling up with fresh tears. "You were playing the piano, you and Cuddy were laughing, having a good time. I should have just turned around and left, but instead I show up like a pathetic lost dog–"

"_Jimmy!_" House's voice was so sharp it could have cut glass. Taking it down a few notches, he said, "You talk like that again and _I'm_ going to throw something at you. You need a place to stay and you're more than welcome to stay here."

"I could go to a hotel."

"No, you're not. I have a spare bedroom and somebody might as well use it."

"Thanks," Wilson muttered. He almost managed a smile.

"Don't mention it. Just remember that the television is mine when _The O.C._ is on, and don't drink all my bourbon."

"Fair enough." Wilson looked back at the door. "Julie said she's calling a lawyer. She's threatened me with that before, but I think she's actually going to go through with it this time."

"Were you having an affair?" House asked flatly. This wasn't the first time the younger man had been thrown out during his marriages.

Wilson shook his head. "No. I wanted to but I didn't." He wiped his eyes and grabbed another tissue. "Does that make me a bad husband?"

"That's not for me to say. I'm not married to you."

"Lucky you." He looked over to House. "Haven't you ever wanted to get married?"

"So I can be just as miserable as you?"

"You're miserable anyway. Didn't you ever want to marry Stacy?"

Knowing his friend was deliberately changing the subject, House didn't bother changing it back at the moment. They would have plenty of time to talk about Julie and divorce later. "Can't say that I did."

"She never mentioned marriage?"

"She brought it up once or twice," said House, tapping his cane on the table. "It was just talk.  
Then I got this weird pain in my leg and the rest is history. If we had been married then the only thing that would have ended up different was her last name."

"But you said you're separated now. What is that all about?" He was curious to see how much House would share, if anything.Wilson was trying to distract himself, he didn't want to think about his wife or the inevitable divorce.

He had to wait a full minute before the older doctor said, "Lisa's a part my life now. To make room for her I had to kick out Stacy out."

"Are you going to let Stacy back in?"

"No."

"Are you going to marry Cuddy?"

"No."

"Good. After all this time you've earned the right to be just a little bit happy." Wilson smiled to himself and said, "I suppose Cuddy never slept in the spare bedroom."

"She's too good for the spare bedroom," House responded.

"And I'm not?"

"I'm not sleeping with you," House shrugged. "Lovers take precedence over platonic friends when it comes to sharing my bed. Unless you want to sleep with me, that is. Then you would be having an affair. And I'm already sleeping with someone so there's no room for you in my bed anyway."

"Point taken," Wilson said, then gingerly touched his swollen cheek. "Ouch! She didn't have to throw the ashtray so damn hard."

House stood up and limped to his guest. "Let's take a look at that." The bruise was an eggplant purple. "If anyone asks, say you got into a fight with Evander Holyfield."

"Nobody will believe that."

"Probably not, but it sounds cooler than being walloped with an ashtray."

"You really know how to cheer a guy up," Dr. Wilson said with what sounded like a genuine laugh.

"Everyone wishes they had a friend like me." The older doctor paused, then said, "Do you think Julie will a call a lawyer?"

"I really don't know. I hope she doesn't," Wilson sighed. "If you don't mind I'd rather not talk about it right now."

"Whatever. What do you want to talk about?"

"How about giving your best friend a piano lesson." Seeing House's startled expression, Wilson continued. "Please. I don't want to think about Julie, marriage, divorce, or ashtrays anymore tonight. I've always wanted to learn how to play. It will keep me from blubbering like a baby all over your living room if nothing else."

"Who am I to argue with logic like that?" Nodding towards the piano, House said, "Get over there. First lesson, a piano has eighty-eight keys."

"I know that already."

"Good. You get a gold star. Second lesson, do not ask to learn something lame like 'Chopsticks'. Remember that and your lesson will go just fine."


	23. Chapter 23

When Dr. James Wilson asked for a piano lesson, it wasn't because he simply had to learn 'Don't Cry For Me Argentina' by his fortieth birthday or else die from shame. In the dozen or so years House had known him, he had never mentioned an overwhelming desire to tickle the ivories. It was just a way of avoiding, in House's mind at least, the 80/20 chance that a divorce lawyer would be calling before lunch tomorrow. The older doctor figured the chances were just as good that his friend wouldn't remember a single note he learned by morning, but that was hardly something to lose any sleep over.The only harm done was to House's ears from all the sour notes. 

Wilson badgered him to show the finer points of piano playing until 11pm. By the time House said enough, the dark circles under Wilson's eyes nearly matched the color of his golf ball sized bruise.

"You're tired, Jimmy. Get some sleep."

"I'm not gonna sleep," Wilson said, tapping random notes on the black keys. "I'm just going to lay awake all night and think about my wife."

"So go to bed and lay awake." House pulled himself up and stalked towards the bedroom. "_I'm _tired and want to get some shut-eye. There's pillows and blankets in the closet."

"I have to get my own blankets?"

"If you want to sleep naked on top of the mattress I'm not going to stop you."

There were two bedrooms but only one bathroom. The doctor let his guest take a quick shower and brush his teeth first. He swallowed a Vicodin and waited for the other bedroom door to shut.

After House finished brushing his teeth, he went to the other bedroom and paused outside. He half-expected to hear Wilson crying, but instead the sound of faint snoring filtered through the door.

You're tired, Wilson, House thought and limped to bed.

He woke up at 3am and something wasn't quite right. Some light was creeping into the room and it wasn't from the numbers on the alarm clock. The light was sneaking in under the door. His door was closed. It was always open since there was never any need for a man who lived alone to close it.

You get extra points for being polite, Jimmy, House mused as he sank back into the pillow.

The light wasn't harsh which suggest that Wilson was in the kitchen. He was in the kitchen, probably sipping coffee and mulling over the very real possibility of a third divorce.

A joke he once told his friend flashed across House's mind:

_"Jimmy, what's the number one cause of divorce?"_

_"I don't know. What?"_

_"Marriage."_

House pulled the blankets back up to his neck and closed his eyes. There was no reason to get up and comfort his friend. There was nothing he could say that hadn't already been said before. If Wilson wanted him out there he would have left the bedroom open and started butchering 'Yesterday' on the piano.

Tomorrow Wilson would spend the day trying to reach Julie and checking his voice-mail for lawyers. House could do nothing about it right now and pushed the rumination aside. But he had a strong feeling the younger doctor would need a shoulder to cry on within the next twenty-four hours. Lord knows he went crying to Wilson a few times over Stacy during the last eight years.

Good luck, Wilson, you're going to need it, he thought and drifted back to sleep.

The alarm screeched. Before he could stop himself, House smacked it off the night table. It landed with the green numbers pointing to the ceiling.

Light was still shining under the door, and the low babble of the morning news drifted into the room along with the scent of coffee.

There was no dream of Lisa Cuddy that night. House was more than a little disappointed.


	24. Chapter 24

"No dreams about you last night, but I did sleep for six and half hours if that's any consolation."

"Sounds more like a consolation to an insomniac like you," Cuddy said, typing away an e-mail while House lounged across the sofa in her office. "How's Wilson?"

"Waiting for the ball to drop. He's got a lot on his mind right now. Don't be surprised if he's a little distracted today." Indeed, the younger doctor barely said two dozen words during breakfast. As soon as they got to the hospital he made a beeline to his office and shut the door.

"Where did that bruise come from?"

"He tried to catch an ashtray with his face."

"It looked like the ashtray caught him."

"Yup," said House. "Those pesky flying ashtrays will get you every time. Bruise or no bruise, the poor dope still loves his wife and doesn't want a divorce."

"Has he heard anything yet?"

Glancing at his watch, House said, "It's only 9:30, Lisa. If Julie's called a lawyer, he hasn't risen from his coffin yet."

Cuddy snickered and clicked away at the keyboard some more. "Well, maybe things will work for the best."

"Maybe," the doctor said absently. "I'm not going to hold my breath, but you can if you want."

The typing stopped. She peered around the monitor and frowned. "That's not very nice."

"No, it's not nice, it's realistic," he said, swinging his legs to the floor. "He's been through two divorces already and, whether he deserves it or not, I have no reason to believe there won't be a third. If I wanted to be really mean to Dr. Wilson I'd go to his office, hold his hand, tell him there's still a chance Julie will change her mind, help him stare at the phone, sugar-coat the whole thing and get his hopes up. But I'd rather do the nice thing and let him have a place to stay and shoulder to cry on when he needs it."

"I guess you have a point."

"Yes I do. Either way, Jimmy is now smart enough to know it's not going to end all warm and fuzzy. It never does."

Leaning on her elbows, Cuddy said, "Is that what he did for you when Stacy left?"

"Yes. Jimmy being Jimmy, he sugar-coated it a little. Back then he still honestly believed all people were basically good at heart."

"Did you believe Stacy would come back to you?"

"It wasn't _believing_ so much as _wishing_." He was looking past the window, his expression completely blank. "For a long time I went to bed every night wishing that I would wake up with Stacy by my side and no pain in my leg. But wishes don't come true and believing in wishes won't make them come true, either."

Cuddy listened in rapt silence, struck by the intimate bits and pieces of himself he had been sharing over the past few days. "If Stacy came through the door right now would you take her back?"

"I can't answer that. Stacy isn't coming back. That's not something I wish or believe, it's something I _know_."

"How long have you known that, Greg?"

"Too long." He turned back to his lover and met her deep crystal blue eyes. "Besides, she never looked as good in my tee shirts as you." Cuddy's cheeks burned a bright pink, much to his amusement and enjoyment. "And she always wanted me to play 'Memory' and listen to those damned Barbra Streisand albums. Man, that used to drive me up the wall. I never got around to looking at your CD collection. Do you own any Streisand?"

"I think the _Yentyl_ soundtrack is around somewhere."

"Keep it out of my sight or I'm taking back my tee shirt." Beeping. It was his beeper. "Well,  
whaddaya know. A patient with strange and mysterious symptoms. We'll have to continue the Great Streisand Discussion later."

"Don't forget you have two hours of clinic duty today."

"But Dr. Cuddddyyyyyy..." he intentionally whined as he leaned on the cane to pull himself up.  
"I'll miss my soaps."

Rolling her eyes, she said, "I'll let you know when I actually care. Give my best to Wilson."

House stopped just short of the door. "And if you happen to run into Wilson today, give him your best for me, too."


	25. Chapter 25

"So what's with the silent treatment?" House asked, feigning disinterest. "Is that good or bad?" 

He limped behind a shopping cart while Wilson absently tossed in cans of chicken noodle soup. The younger doctor still had the same slack-jawed expression that filled his face an hour earlier when there were no phone calls or e-mails from Julie or a divorce lawyer.

"It's hard to say," Wilson said as canned peaches and pears joined the soup. "On one hand, it could mean they're taking their time plotting and scheming, getting ready to go for the jugular, or..." Wilson paused, letting his unfinished thought hang in the air. The older doctor didn't need to ask what came after 'or'. "It's good that a lawyer didn't call, but it's bad that this is going to drag out longer and longer. I wish she would just make up her mind already."

"Wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which piles up first," House said. An older woman with a cart full of bananas, oatmeal and cat food narrowed her eyes at him. He ignored her and turned into the cereal aisle.

"Nice language, House. Is that what you told Cuddy this morning when you two were talking about me?"

After flinging in a box of Cheerios, House responded, "Lisa was asking about you. I was hardly betraying your confidence."

"And you told _Lisa_ how I got this lovely bruise."

"Of course I did. Do you want me to lie?"

"You wanted me to lie about getting slugged by Evander Holyfield," his friend responded as he scanned the shelves for Frosted Mini Wheats. "What else did you say about me?"

"I said that you loved your wife and didn't want a divorce," answered the doctor.

Wilson found his cereal and stuffed the box into the cart. "You really said that?"

House arched his eyebrows. "Are you asking me to lie again?"

"Cuddy's really brought out the pussycat in you, hasn't she?" The younger man smiled, then winced from the pain of the bruise.

"Pussycat..._what_?" House bungled as he felt his face turn red.

"Most people probably haven't noticed, but I have." Wilson helped guide the cart to the dairy aisle and threw in milk and yogurt. "The kinder, gentler Gregory House has reared his ugly head, but nobody knows where to look for him. But I know. All have to do is say the name Lisa Cuddy and you practically melt. I can always tell when you're thinking about her. You're not as crabby. You get all doe-eyed. You should see yourself."

"Geez Jimmy, you make it sound like a bad thing." The older doctor mindlessly grabbed a block of sharp cheddar from the shelf.

"It's a good thing, a very good thing. You sure you don't want to get married?"

"That's a question you should be asking Lisa, not me."

"Why is that?" Wilson puzzled.

"Think about it. If Lisa wanted marriage and kids and the whole nine yards, she never would have looked twice at someone like me."

"So your relationship is based on the mutual fact that you two don't want to get married?"

"No," House said, getting annoyed since Wilson already knew how he felt about marriage. Raising his voice, he added, "Our relationship is based on _wild, loud, passionate sex every chance we get_."

They looked at the people who stopped and stared. A mom with two small kids in her cart backed up and turned around. Wilson pulled the cart into an aisle with no other shoppers.

"What do you find so great about marriage?" House had to ask.

"I fall in love and want to get married. What can I say?" the oncologist answered as he added two six packs of beer to the heaping cart.

"Is that why you've been married three times?"

"I get married because I fall in love. I get divorced because I fall in love too often."

"You said you weren't cheating on Julie," House reminded him.

"I'm not," Wilson frowned. "But she thinks I am, among other things. If this one ends in divorce too, I can at least say that I tried. And as with my other marriages, I have no regrets."

House leaned on the handle of the cart. "That's pretty big talk for someone who was crying like Niagra Falls only twenty-four hours earlier."

"You'd be crying too if you got bonked with an ashtray. I think I have a right to be upset about that. And I still love my wife."

"Ashtrays and all?" House asked.

"Ashtrays, coffee cups and everything else," Wilson answered, smiling weakley.

The doctor smiled back at his friend. "C'mon, Jimmy. Let's go home, have a few drinks, and forget about flying ashtrays." He had Wilson push the now heavy cart to the nearest checkout lane. "I think I should hide your car keys, though."

"Why? I'm not going anywhere."

House turned to the oncologist with mock seriousness. "Sure, you say that _now_. But then you'll get a few beers in you, bonk me over the head, and drag me to Massachusetts to get married. How will I explain that to Lisa?"


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N: Cameron pushes House's buttons and he lets her have it with both barrels._

House popped a Vicodin as he mulled over Cameron's question.

"No," he said curtly.

"No feelings at all." She stood at his desk while he sat and started playing with a yo-yo.

"I already answered that."

She narrowed her eyes. "I think you're lying."

"Really." House put the yo-yo down and settled back into his chair. "And I think you're angry because I didn't tell you what you wanted to hear. Here's some free advice, Dr. Cameron: if you don't want to know the answer then don't ask the question."

"You just won't admit it." Cameron stood her ground and folded her arms.

The doctor raised an eyebrow at her. "You've got a lot nerve coming into my office, telling me what I do and don't feel. Am I supposed to be won over by your so-called spunk?"

"You can't sit there and honestly say you have no feelings for me."

"You're on thin ice right now, kiddo," House warned. "When you fall through don't expect me to pull you out."

"I can take it."

"Is that so."

"You can't sit there and say–"

"_Oh yes, I can!_" He got up and stood toe-to-toe with her. "You wanna play rough, Cameron, we'll play rough. But just remember, I always win."

"Bring it on," she dared.

"You asked for it," he said, leaning on his cane. "I don't love you and I never will."

Cameron furrowed her brow. "Is that all you have?"

"I'm glad you asked. No, it's not. Since you were so kind as to inform me of my feelings for you, let me tell you a thing or two about your feelings for me. I used to think that you wanted to fix me, change me, all I needed was a little time and a little care and I'd be good as new. But I'm broken beyond repair and you know it. So that just leaves one conclusion–you want me because you can't have me. And guess what, you never will. The sooner you get that through your pretty little head, the better." He watched as her face turned blotchy and she fought back tears. "If your feelings are hurt, that's too goddamned bad. You were warned. I play rough and I always win."

"So you're just going to sit on your ass and drink yourself into a stupor." She snatched a tissue and wiped her eyes.

"And if I do will you immediately voice your concern," Cameron's head snapped up and House smirked, "or will you wait four days until I pass out in the waiting room because you just love me so much."

"You chicken-shit bastard," she hissed.

"You better believe it," he deadpanned. "I'll bet my motorcycle there's one thought that never crossed your mind. One little thought and we might have avoided this whole enchanting conversation."

Cameron sniffed. "What is it?"

"Well gee-whiz, Dr. Cameron, instead of me sitting on my sorry ass, saying hello to the bottom of a scotch bottle every night," House said in a loud, obnoxious voice that bounced off the walls, "maybe, just maybe, I'm in love with someone else."

Cameron was caught off guard. "You're joking."

"You only wish I was joking." He glared at her for a few more beats, then limped back to his chair. "I think we're done here."

"All you had to do was say so," she said stonily.

"First, you didn't ask because the thought never occurred to you, did it?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Second, it's none of your damned business. I hope you got the answers you were looking for because this discussion is over. Now, you have five seconds to get the hell out of my office or you're going to be emptying bedpans for the next month."

She turned and stalked out the door in a cold silence.

Dr. House glared past the door and hall, mindlessly twirling the yo-yo.

The thought never crossed your mind. You didn't think it was possible, did you Cameron? he thought as he caught the yo-yo again and again.


	27. Chapter 27

House sat at the kitchen table nursing a beer. It tasted like iced tea and was flat. 

"Why aren't you with Cuddy?" Wilson asked as he flipped hamburgers and dribbled more A1 Sauce on them.

"Because I'm here with you."

"You almost make it sound like you want to be here with me."

"Are you trying to throw me out of my own place?"

"I don't mean to interrupt your newly invigorated love life."

"You're not," House said, spinning the beer bottle on the table. "She wants me to keep an eye on you. If Lisa and I wanted to be together right now, we'd be together."

"And where would I be?"

"That depends," the older doctor said with a mischievous glint in his eye. "If I were at Lisa's you'd be here alone and if Lisa was here you'd be sleeping in your car."

Wilson rolled his brown eyes. "At least I now know where I stand. Do you want cheese?"

House nodded and reminded his friend, "Lovers over platonic friends, Jimmy."

"Whatever," the oncologist sighed and turned back to his cooking.

There was still no word from Julie or a lawyer and Wilson was starting to get antsy. House was more than happy to let him blow off some steam by making dinner.

Watching as the younger doctor opened the oven and forked the potatoes, the older doctor asked,"Jimmy, why don't you just call her?"

Snatching sour cream and butter out the refrigerator, Wilson cast a stony glare at his friend. "No.She's going to call tonight."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes, I'm sure. She's going to call tonight."

"What if she doesn't?"

"Oh, she will sooner or later," Wilson laughed humorlessly. "Somebody has to pay for the divorce."

"You don't know that yet." House got up and tossed his beer, then limped to the fridge for a Pepsi.

"No, I don't know that yet," the younger doctor muttered under his breath. "You want ketchup and mustard on your burger?"

"Both. And don't even think about putting any of that Miracle Whip shit on my food or I'm calling Lisa here for a sleepover and you can eat that crap in your backseat."

An hour later the meals were finished and the plates stacked in the dishwasher. Both doctors were still at the table, House still drinking Pepsi while Wilson was making a dent in his friend's bourbon supply.

"You drink any more of my booze and I'm going to start charging you by the glass."

Wilson responded by draining his glass and pouring another one.

"Do you want to end up like me, Jimmy?" said House as he grabbed the bottle and stuffed it back in the cabinet.

"You can go on a bender but I can't?" Wilson touched the bruise under his eye.

"If you want to drink yourself into oblivion, do it under your own roof with your own liquor" Nodding towards the glass he added, "Enjoy it, that's your last."

"Do yourself a favor, House, don't ever get married," Wilson said as he picked up his bourbon and studied it like he would never see one again.

"I'll try not to."

"Alimony is a real bitch."

The older doctor raised his Pepsi in a toast. "Here's to alimony, or lack of it in my case."

"You never, ever have to worry about it. Consider yourself lucky."

"Why should I worry about it?" House grinned. "Lisa doesn't want my money, she wants my body."

The doctors tried valiantly, and failed miserably, to stop from cracking up. Five minutes later they were still giggling like idiots and wiping tears from their eyes.

A crashing and clanging came from the next room.

"What the hell...?" They jumped to their feet and raced towards the noise.

Steve McQueen's cage was toppled on the floor. The wood shavings and water mixed into a soggy mess. Food pellets scattered every which way. Steve himself was nowhere in sight.

"My rat lives up to his name," House mused.

"Huh?" Wilson puzzled, looking around for the black and white rodent.

"Steve McQueen," House smirked, "he made his great escape."


	28. Chapter 28

"Do you see him?"

Wilson was on his hands and knees peering under the furniture while House was the coffee table trying to put Steve's battered cage back together.

"No," Wilson said, looking under the bookcase.

"Keep looking."

"I am." The oncologist crawled to the TV stand and the piano. "I don't see anything."

"_Keep looking_."

"Would it kill you to help me, Greg?"

"Jimmy, I can't crawl around on the floor like that."

"No, but you can _walk_ and _look_."

Sighing, the older doctor stood up and limped to the middle of the room. "Satisfied? I don't see him anywhere, either."

"Maybe he went into your bedroom," Wilson groaned, getting up to his feet. "Has Steve had his shots?"

"Yes."

"Does he bite?"

"It's a rat, Jimmy, not a fucking wolverine."

"Yeah, well, you can't be too careful."

House eyed his friend. "If you don't keep looking you're going have a lot more than a stupid rat to worry about."

"Okay...okay..." The younger doctor huffed to the master bedroom with his friend trailing behind.

Wilson checked under the bed, "Nothing here."

"He didn't just teleport out of here," House grumbled, looking behind the hamper. "Where the hell are you, Steve?"

"_There!_" the oncologist cried, scaring House so badly he dropped his cane. "He's back in the living room!"

By the time House picked up his cane and caught up with his friend, Wilson was crawling all over the place again.

The older doctor stood over him and said, "You didn't see where he went, did you?"

"No," Wilson grunted.

"Are you blind?"

"Dammit, Greg...you didn't see him, either"

"Outsmarted by a rat, Jimmy?"

The younger doctor looked up and smirked, "When _you_ catch him, Greg, you can say that I was."

"Next time I'm getting a wolverine. I'll check the kitchen."

"Are there any beers left? Can you check?"

"Sure, Dr. Ratcatcher," House mumbled.

He was halfway there when a chirping sound filled the room. Both doctors froze, perplexed. Another chirp. It was coming from Wilson's coat, hanging on the back of the sofa.

"My phone..." Wilson gulped and scrambled to the coat. "Julie? Yes...I'm listening...yes..." He stumbled to the spare bedroom and locked it.

Unable to squash his curiosity, House limped to the door. Wilson's voice was low and muffled; the older doctor could only pickup a few garbled words. He could have unlocked the door, but knew his younger friend would give him a matching bruise under his eye plus a few extra, so he waited patiently outside the room.

Ten minutes later Wilson came charging out, clutching his phone as if he would die if it wasn't in his hand. He nearly fell over when he the older doctor right there, inches away.

"Well?" House cautiously asked, trying to read his friend's red, splotchy, tear-stained face for clues.

Leaning into the doorway like a man who had just finished a marathon and was trying to catch his breath, Wilson said with a cracking voice, "She apologized for the ashtray."

"You two didn't spend the last ten minutes talking about a fucking ashtray."

"No," Wilson gasped. "No, she...uh, she wanted to know if I was willing to go with her to a marriage counselor."

"Jimmy," House grinned, "you damn well better have said yes or I'm throwing you to a pack of a wolverines."

The stupid joke brought a smile and fresh tears. "Goddammit, of course I said yes! Julie wants me to come home. I need to get my stuff..."

Wilson gathered up his things and was out the door like man possessed.

House was lounging on the sofa, listening to the sudden silence when a scratching sound came from under the bookcase. He reached for the phone and dialed an all-too-familiar number without looking at the buttons.

"Lisa? I need a _huge _favor. Can you come over?"


	29. Chapter 29

_A/N: Well folks, everything must come to an end, so Chapters 29 and 30 will be the last. Thanks to everyone and thanks for all your wonderful reviews and feedback! I never expected the story to go on this long and I'm so glad you all enjoyed it._

"Ssshhhh, he's taken cover under the bookcase," House said quietly as he opened the door for Cuddy. "Don't make any sudden moves or loud noises.

"All this trouble over a rat?" Cuddy asked in a low voice as she unbuttoned her jacket.

"Yeah, well, it's not like I let him escape _on purpose_."

"You must really like this rat."

"Steve McQueen may be a rat, but he's _my_ rat. My daddy didn't buy me the pony I wanted for my twelfth birthday so I felt deprived of that special unconditional love between a boy and his pony so I'm trying to make up for it now. Of course, Steve isn't a pony, but you get the idea. My landlord won't let me keep a pony in here."

He turned to Cuddy as she was hanging up her jacket and was fairly well surprised to see the Jack Daniels shirt clinging to her figure.

She smiled, knowing he was pleased to no end.

"You just made the top of my kick-ass list. You shall be handsomely rewarded," he said with a Cheshire cat grin.

"First things first, Greg," she reminded him, nodding towards the bookcase.

"Right." House tilted his head in thought. "How do we get ole Steve-O out from under there."

Looking over the battered cage House put back together with duct tape, Cuddy asked, "Are you sure this will hold him?"

"I hope so. Can't get another one until tomorrow."

"How did he manage to push the cage off the table?"

"Dunno. Must have been easier than tunneling his way out," the doctor said, limping to the spare bedroom. "Lisa, there's a big plastic salad bowl in the cupboard next to the dishwasher. Go get it."

Cuddy found the bowl and upon returning to the living room found House had put two pillows down in front of the bookcase. Now there were only two ways out, one at either end.

"Okay, what are we doing?" the lady doctor asked, looking from him to the bowl and back again.

"Catch him in the bowl," said House, carefully lowering himself to the floor.

"Greg, wait."

"What is it?"

"Are you sure he's under there?"

"He's not clinging to the ceiling fan, Lisa. Yes, he's under here. Get ready. It's time to rattle his cage."

He slid the cane underneath the bookcase and rattled it around like a crazy man trying to stir up a beehive. A few seconds later there was a clomp and a triumphant cry of "Got him!"

Peering around, he watched as Cuddy skimmed her hand under the bowl and gently wrapped it around Steve. Carefully, she carried him his humble _abode_ and made sure it was far from the edge of the table.

"I always knew you were good for something," House smirked as he retrieved the cane.

"I'm a woman of many talents." She tossed the pillows and bowl onto the other end of the table, then grasped his hand and pulled him up.

"You don't say." He limped to the sofa and flopped down. Cuddy sank into the cushion next to him. "What kind of talents are we talking about here, aside from capturing wayward rodents."

"Let's see," she rested her head on her lover's shoulder, "I'm a doctor."

"I never would have guessed," he remarked, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"I can cook."

"That's debatable."

"I put up with _you_ every single day."

House couldn't help but laugh. "Now _that_ takes talent."

"I take care of my doctors." Her hand came up and caressed his cheek.

"Yes, you do that well."

"And I'm an excellent lover."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"You know it is."

Without blinking, he said, "Prove it."

She moved in close. He could feel her breath as she playfully nipped at his neck, his chin, his mouth. At first the kisses were light and teasing, soon they became more frantic and deep, their moans filling the quiet room. She unbuttoned his shirt, ran her nails up and down his chest and watched him shiver.

"Lisa," he whispered, "Lisa, oh please..."


	30. Chapter 30

_A/N: The last chapter -sob- Hopefully it won't disappoint. Thanks again everyone!_

Darkness had its hold on the bedroom. All he could see was a vague silhouette of her even though she was sleeping with her head on his chest. He listened to her breathing and lightly twirled her hair around his fingers over and over again. It was 4am.

For a while House sifted and sorted through the events of the past week or so, starting with the four day binge he could barely remember and ending with being curled up in his bed with Lisa Cuddy. Briefly he paused to kick off another Stacy box.

A whole new chapter, a whole new beginning. Finally able to let go of the Stacy memories that had been a stone around his neck for far too long. He looked forward to the day when he could kick off the last box and say goodbye forever.

Bye-bye Stacy. It was nice knowing you.

A tiny smile tugged at the corners as he closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where are you going?" he muttered, still groggy from sleep as he watched Cuddy pull on her jeans.

"Home to change," she answered. "I can hardly go in wearing these clothes."

"You look fine."

"Maybe to you, but I'm sure my bosses might have something to say about it."

"What can they say, Lisa? You're dressed, aren't you?"

"Greg, I can't wear this shirt..."

"Can't you stay for breakfast?" he pleaded.

"I can't, Greg," she sighed, tying her shoes. "I'm going to be late as it is."

"Not even for waffles?"

She turned a suspicious eye in his direction. "Do you have any waffles?"

"No," he snickered.

He was on his side, hugging a pillow and still half-buried under the covers. To Cuddy he looked a kid waiting until the last possible second to get up for school.

"I have to go, Greg."

"'Kay," he said in a way that told her he knew she had to go but that didn't mean he had to like it.

She smiled. "See you tonight."

"'Kay," House said again with a much more satisfied tone as Cuddy disappeared out the bedroom door.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You should have seen him. He was out the door in record time."

House told all about the phone call from Julie while sprawled across Cuddy's couch. The smell of spaghetti sauce and garlic bread wafted in during the story, making his stomach growl.

"I hope they can work their problems out." The lady doctor poured herself another glass of red wine.

"Maybe they can," House added. "I shouldn't say anymore. I'll have to get all realistic again and I don't wanna jinx their effort before they even get started."

"No, we don't want that," Cuddy remarked. Then after a brief pause she said, "Can I ask you something, Greg?"

"Sure," he answered, honestly curious about what she wanted.

"How's the separation with Stacy going?"

He laughed, unable to stop himself. "Oh Lisa, you do understand that this isn't a trial separation" Cuddy nodded. "And you do understand that I have a mountain of memories and baggage from Stacy to deal with." Another nod. "Good. These things take time. I'm slowly but surely getting there. Thankfully memories can't hire counselors and lawyers to try and change my mind, talk me out of something I have every intention of seeing through to the very end. Does that answer your question?"

"Absolutely." She was grinning from ear to ear.

"I told you what you wanted to hear."

"Yes."

"Good," he said, then changed the subject. "Is that damn spaghetti almost ready?"

"I need to boil the noodles," Cuddy answered, getting up. "About ten more minutes."

"I'm starving over here."

"What's the hurry?" She eyed her guest. "You got a hot date or something?"

"No." House relaxed into the couch. "I'm not going anywhere."

–The End


End file.
